


No Dominion

by cynical21



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynical21/pseuds/cynical21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: What if Qui-Gon were forced to make an impossible decision, only to learn, shortly thereafter, that he might have been wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: As always, the SW universe is the exclusive property of the Flanneled One - and I would gladly kneel and smooch his Gucci loafers for the privilege of playing here.

 

For those of you who may not be acquainted with my work, I'll issue my standard warning. 

AHEM: DISNEY - IT AIN'T!!!! HERE BE DRAGONS.

* * * * * * * * * *

_And death shall have no dominion,_  
_Dead men naked they shall be one_  
_With the man in the wind and the west moon._

\--- Dylan Thomas -- And Death Shall Have No Dominion

* * * * * * * * * *

Twilight on Coruscant, a time when even the jumble of architecture and the multi-layered concentrations of intermingled species of this mammoth city/planet take on a feathered softness, as if stroked with an artist's brush to create a patina of natural luminescence in direct counterpoint to the harsh lines and angles of bright daylight. Through all the years since I met him, dating back to his days in the crèche, before he was anything more to me than an incredibly pure presence in the Force, this hour always held a special magic for my Obi-Wan. Thus it has long been our custom - one of the first we created together - to linger, during our rare terms of residence within the Temple, here on the tiny balcony outside our quarters, and savor each moment of the constantly shifting bursts of color and brilliance in the sweep of the heavens, until the final ray of golden purity flares from the horizon and is flung into the ebony vastness of space.

The show is almost over for this day, and I feel a chill rising in the air, which is, I suppose, appropriate. It echoes the one that exists within me, the one that has become a constant part of my existence.

With a suddenness that stuns the senses, I am swept into the grip of memory, and I can almost touch him, almost feel him as he settles near me, his back braced against my side, his head resting against my shoulder, and the man that I was is abruptly reminded that he is no longer a child; he is in the midst of becoming the man he will be, and I am surprised to realize that there is an element of dread within me - a reluctance to allow time to proceed at its customary pace.

He was the child of my heart. Does every parent experience this, I wonder. Does every father stop to notice that the little boy is being transformed before his eyes, and will soon no longer require the shelter of a father's arms, a father's devotion?

I rather think they must, but I wonder if it's quite so painful for everyone. Do some, perhaps, look forward to being relieved of what they perceive as a burden?

In that precious memory, he nuzzles closer to me, managing to wriggle inside the folds of my cape as darkness begins to leach away the warmth of the day, and he looks up and favors me with a smile that is uniquely Obi-Wan, part affection, part mischief, and - a large part - confidence in his certainty that he is safe within my embrace, and that I can deny him nothing.

I remember a faint bitterness in my mouth, as I watched the shadows reflected in his eyes, a bitterness stemming from the knowledge that, however long I would have him in my life, it would not be long enough. At that point in time, he had seen but seventeen winters, and I could console myself that there would be at least ten more to come before I would be compelled to let him go.

I wonder now - do I wish I had known better? If I had sensed that those years would not be granted to me, would I have acted differently?

I have no answers, though I do have an appropriate question. Still, it is not yet time to address it.

Full darkness is at hand, and I can put it off no longer. I don't want to do this, don't want to relive that night on Re'helia, but I know there is no way to avoid it. It has become an annual pilgrimage - a journey through the dark tapestry of my soul, in a landscape where chiaroscuro patterns obscure treacherous pits of evil and cruel irony, that await the chance to ensnare the foolhardy.

It is said - and rightly so - that even the Hutts seek to avoid the notice of the Megijim warriors of the Re'hel Cluster. Members of the Clan Re-Megij, and dedicated, from birth, to the defense of their tribe and the proliferation of their powers, they are ruthless in war, relentlessly cruel in enforcing their own unique concept of justice, and fanatically devoted to cultural imperatives that allow no deviation from the most stringent adherence to the letter of law and tradition.

Additionally, they are incredibly strong, having evolved on a heavy gravity world, extremely intelligent, technologically advanced, and completely xenophobic, which is, in itself, something of a blessing. Given their facility with all things mechanical and their expertise in engineering the symbiosis of biological and robotic forms, it is likely that any attempt they might make to explore and conquer other star systems would result in the destruction of galactic civilization as we know it, and the establishment of a tyrannical dictatorship such as the universe has never seen. Fortunately, their intense hatred for all lifeforms originating from systems other than their own has caused them to focus their thirst for dominance and control on other tribes native to their own planets, to reject the attempts of other galactic entities to establish communications and trade, and to ignore the rest of the galaxy, deeming it unworthy of their attention.

They know little of civilizations and cultures beyond their own borders and care less, an insular attitude shared by most of the other inhabitants of their worlds.

Except for one tiny little group of misfits. One little clan, numbering less than a thousand in their ranks, genetically identical to their Megijim counterparts, but intellectually and emotionally entire orders of multitude apart.

The Shu'hadran, native to the semi-tropical islands of the Keirekk Archipelago, scattered across the Great Southern Sea of Re'helia, which is itself the most temperate of the four inhabitable planets in the system. The Shu'hadran, gifted in the growing of all things beautiful and the arts of woodcarving and shipbuilding, blessed by geographic circumstances in being separated from the populous areas of their planet by a vast sweep of ocean, isolated from the remainder of their planet and thus, throughout their existence, blissfully unaware of the violent traditions and cultures of the other clans of Re'helia.

It could not, of course, last forever.

The isolation of the Shu'hadran endured only until the technological advancement of the Megij produced powered vehicles to facilitate complete exploration of the planet, and their ever increasing thirst for conquest sparked an interest in every population center on the planet's surface, no matter how small. Once that exploration was completed, it was inevitable that the warrior culture would follow its cultural imperatives and seek to dominate and enslave the gentle folk of the islands. I always wondered which of the two groups was more surprised when the would-be conquerors discovered that their victory was not quite so easily accomplished as they had expected.

To the astonishment of the bloodthirsty Megijim, not to mention the Shu'hadran themselves, the islanders refused to submit, or to accept the inevitability of their defeat. Their resistance was the resistance of smoke before a fierce wind, fading away in one place only to reform in another, infuriating the Megij warriors with forms of passive resistance that the conquerors could neither understand nor anticipate. And then, adding insult to injury, the gentle inhabitants of the Archipelago took a step that the Megij clan deemed completely unforgivable; they dared to ask for help, from the only source that might possibly be able to provide it: the Jedi.

And the Jedi, true to the code that drove them to defend the weak and promote the peace, responded.

Within a matter of days, the mission was organized, supplies assembled, transportation arranged, and teams, dispatched.

* * * * * * * * *

 

_Obi-Wan had grown exceptionally quiet over the course of the three days since we had stumbled into the horror of the Quelqaja Valley, and I had found myself unable to offer consolation that would dispel the terrible hurt within him. Though as obedient and attentive as always, he had begun to confine his responses to single syllables or brief nods, allowing his actions to speak where words now seemed, somehow, superfluous or intrusive. I have had a very long time to ask myself if there was any way he could have sensed what lay ahead,and I still have no answers. If he did, he bore it in silence, as he had begun to bear so many things, in the belief that his concerns burdened me unnecessarily. Sometimes, that memory is almost more painful than any other._

_We tell ourselves we must promote self-sufficiency, but is that truly the reason we encourage our young to seek and find their own paths? Or is it that we spare ourselves the necessity to deal with their pain and ease their fears?_

_I am no longer sure._

_It had been almost a full lunar cycle since we had been dropped off on Re'helia, left to make our way to the newly-established primary compound of the Shu'hadran, following their forced migration from their island homes. We had been instructed to glean as much information as we could before approaching the ruling council of the Megijim. Our purpose was to open negotiations among the various tribal bodies with an eye to establishing a forum to encourage the diverse factions to work out agreements for the governing of the planet which would benefit all. Since preliminary data was sparse, and some of the inhabitants were rumored to be extremely hostile, we were accompanied by Knight Parujiam and his padawan, Dalk Reessu, a twi'lek male only slightly younger than Obi-Wan. The Jedi Council, based on the intelligence gleaned from Republic sources, had assumed that two experienced teams would be sufficient to handle the situation._

_We had been on planet less than four days when we learned how dreadfully wrong that assumption had been._

_The Megijim, who had responded to an official communication from the Council with a message indicating their willingness to 'open a dialogue', proved immediately and conclusively that they had no such intentions. The message had been bait in their trap, in an effort to assure that there would be no further interference in the affairs of their planet from offworld sources; the Jedi must be taught a lesson._

_Knight Parujiam and Padawan Reessu never had an opportunity to recognize the treachery that struck them down, falling under a barrage of halia-thermic chemical combustion - a form of weaponry designed specifically to inflict maximum physical damage without granting the instantaneous release of death, known in the vernacular as 'flame acid'. There was no warning - no tremor within the Force to alert us to the dangers ahead. One moment the four of us, along with a small contingent of native guides, traveling under a universally recognized emblem of truce, were approaching the perimeter of the Megij tribal compound, intensely conscious of the scrutiny of a squadron of perimeter guards, humanoid beings with heavily muscled torsos and hawkish faces, limbs and upper bodies heavily armored and enhanced with bionic implants; the next moment, in a fragment of time too small to measure, the world was devoured in a tempest of fire and horror, and my padawan escaped the worst of it by a matter of centimeters._

_Our Jedi companions were not so fortunate._

_The bombardment served to alert us to two inescapable truths: the Megijim were capable of such incredibly bloodthirsty cruelty that it defied belief, and they were completely undetectable within the Force._

_Parijiam was the luckier of the two; as he fell, he twisted his torso, in an attempt to shelter his padawan, I think, and was impaled on a smoldering piece of metallic wreckage which pierced his heart and spared him the torment that would have spread throughout his body and destroyed his mind._

_Nothing, however, intervened to spare the apprentice, nothing, that is, until my padawan took it upon himself to put an end to an agony of such terrible ferocity that it devoured reason and reduced the young twi'lek to a ravening beast, clawing at his own face as if to rip it to shreds._

_Unfortunately, the task of ending that monstrous torment fell to Obi-Wan, because I was necessarily focused on generating a shield that would protect the tender flesh of my apprentice as the onslaught continued. Coincidentally, the barrier also protected me and some of our native companions, but my own safety was not my primary concern, just as Parijiam's last thought had been to sacrifice himself to save Dalk._

_I managed, somehow, to deflect the terrible liquid flame that would have consumed us, and pull my apprentice away from the line of fire, even as he dragged the young twi'lek to cover. So intent was I on seeking an escape route for us that I failed to notice, until it was too late, that Obi-Wan was being inundated with waves of agony that battered him relentlessly as Dalk's suffering demolished every vestige of shielding. When he could endure no more, he grew still and immovable as a mountain, and I was jerked to a halt with such abruptness that I barely retained my footing. By that time, I had managed to maneuver us into the shelter of a rough ravine, thick with vines and evergreens, and safe - for the moment - from the weapons of the Megijim, but I knew we dared not dawdle._

_"Obi-Wan, we . . ."_

_But I turned and looked down at him and suddenly had no words._

_He was only seventeen, but he had killed before, even at his tender age. Such is the life of a Jedi._

_But he had never before been forced to kill a friend. Though he and Dalk had never been close, they were, nevertheless, crèche mates and age mates, and they had spent the last few days getting to know each other better, and guarding each other's backs, in the manner of all young padawans thrown together in hazardous territory. They had discovered a mutual fascination for stellar cartography and astrophysics and a shared dislike of Corellian tone poems and a preference for the more aerobatic katas. They had even spent one afternoon in the company of the youths of the Shu'hadran clans, learning to ride long, narrow strips of varnished wood on the crests of giant waves hurling themselves against broad, hard-packed beaches._

_When I regained my equilibrium after our precipitous halt, my first inclination was to simply compel him to follow me, leaving any unresolved issues to be dealt with later. But, in the end, regardless of the dire straits in which we found ourselves, I could not simply jerk him to his feet and force him to turn away from the consequences of his actions. So distraught was he and so shell-shocked by the sudden shift in the patterns of reality, that he had not yet recognized what he had done._

_The twi'lek boy lay across his lap, horribly mutilated by the barbaric nature of the weapon used against him, his flesh melted and twisted and mangled, a jumbled mass of bone and blood and grist and intestines, which - unbelievably - had been alive and still attempting to scream, managing to emit only a shrill, ululating whistle, until Obi-Wan had reached out and closed his hand, extinguishing the guttering flicker of life within the tiny space between one heartbeat and the next._

_For a moment, the silence was deafening, drowning everything in its thickness, swallowing even the thunderous roars that announced the approach of our attackers; nothing moved; nothing dared disturb the horror that wrapped my padawan like a smothering blanket or the hoarseness of the breath he could barely draw._

_"Come, Padawan," I said finally. "We must go. He's beyond your help now. You ended his suffering."_

_He looked up at me then, and that was the first time that I ever saw death in his eyes; I can only wish now that it had also been the last. "That's not why I did it," he said, in a pale, lifeless voice._

_"He would have done the same for you. He . . . "_

_In a strength born of desperation, he surged to his feet then, and the empty suffering that had filled his eyes with shadow was suddenly subsumed within a towering rage. "I didn't do it for him!" he screamed. "I couldn't stand it. I couldn't take another . . . I did it for me!"_

_He saw me reach for him then, saw my arms attempting to encircle him, but he was not going to allow himself to be comforted or consoled. With a wordless shout of rage, he reeled away and plunged into the undergrowth, and I stood motionless, stunned by a sense of rejection._

_Had I - and the Order I served - become so fixated on fostering self-sufficiency that we had denied our children the ability to accept the solace of a sympathetic gesture, or loving arms to ease the ache of mourning?_

_The shouts and lumbering progress of the approaching Megijim grew louder, and a native boy who had served as one of our guides reached out and jerked at my arm. "We must go now, Master Jedi," he insisted, the urgency of his statement at odds with the soft, lyrical quality of his accent. "I will find your boy and guide him to safety, if you can distract the Megij. Then I will come back for you."_

_"No need for that," I replied, shaking off my own dark forebodings. "I'll be able to find you, through my training bond with Obi-Wan. Go quickly. Make sure he is . . ."_

_Huge liquid eyes, the color of dark smoke, regarded me with a small smile. "There is a system of narrow caves that leads back into the mountains. The Megij will not enter there. They avoid small, dark spaces. He will be safe once we are inside."_

_"Then go," I replied, giving him a determined push, "and don't stop for anything until you are both safe."_

_While the Megijim were exempt from the influences of the Force, the environment around them was not, and I spent the next two hours manipulating matter and energy, generating false trails, and setting elementary traps that served to confound the enemy. Only when I reached a point where my keenest senses, hyper-extended through the Force, assured me that they had been sufficiently confused and distracted to have lost our scent completely, did I allow my thoughts and my steps to turn toward the warm presence of my padawan - a presence that was as much a part of my consciousness as my own sense of identity, but infinitely more precious._

_He was there, waiting for me, but even the least gifted of Jedi would have known immediately that all was not as it should be._

_He was holding himself very still and was resigned to remaining where he was until my arrival, but his anticipation of my return, and the need to have me close at hand, ordinarily so much a part of his personal aura, was muted, submerged in a maelstrom of other emotions._

_Those among the Jedi gifted with the ability to interpret the Force as physical manifestations had often remarked that Obi-Wan's presence, within that great energy field, was incredibly luminous - pure and untainted by shadow - a fact known to myself and all the Masters who served the Council, but never mentioned to my padawan himself. Later, I would wonder why it was deemed inappropriate to tell him._

_At any rate, I was never fortunate enough to witness this phenomenon for myself, but I did have an acute sense of his Force signature and its spectral purity. As I made my way toward him, I had no trouble recognizing that unique trademark, but I think I knew even then that something within it had changed. Some small bit of brilliance had shifted, and lost its clarity and guttered like a candle in the wind, finally falling silent and dark._

_I understood abruptly that the focus of my mission had been irrevocably altered. There was no longer a hope of bringing about meaningful change for the population of Re'helia. If the Shu'hadran were to receive aid from the Republic or the Jedi, it would have to be in the form of relocation to a new home, beyond the reach of the Megijim. But even that consideration was now beside the point._

_There was only one goal that I set for myself as I moved through the growing darkness, my mind reaching for the bright but fluctuating presence of my padawan._

_I had to find a way to contact the Temple - no small task in that our only transmitter had been in the backpack carried by Knight Parijiam, and thus lost in the initial attack._

_Nevertheless, I had to find a way._

_The whisper of the Force in my mind grew more urgent with every passing moment. I had to get Obi-Wan away from Re'helia._

_Everything else was irrelevant._

* * * * * * * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_The days that followed that initial confrontation were indistinguishable one from another, endless, grueling treks through dark wilderness, and almost always just barely avoiding the relentless pursuit of our adversaries. So great was the fury of the Megijim against the Jedi that we dared not avail ourselves of the offers of assistance from other clans, for fear of bringing that wrath down upon the innocent._

_And so we ran, and, when too exhausted to run further, we concealed ourselves, using the Force to confuse and obfuscate and misdirect. We ate little, and slept even less, and clung to each other like children unwilling to be alone in the dark._

_We were not, however, totally abandoned by the Shu'hadran. The young native guide - Chymgi was his name - stayed with us throughout our struggles to survive and elude capture, urging us on, prodding us when necessary, saying little about our pursuers except that being apprehended by them was something to avoid at all costs. He did not elaborate, disclosing only the name bestowed on them by his own clan; they had been dubbed Soul Eaters, and the term sent shivers down my spine, but we did not press for explanations. Other natives, from various local tribes, came and went, bringing small offerings of food and supplies, and information about the Megijim and their search patterns. But only Chymgi remained with us, and we would quickly learn to appreciate his skill and dedication as the days progressed, as, in the manner of young boys of all races, he and Obi-Wan quickly developed a warm rapport that would, given time, evolve into true friendship._

_He was very young - younger even than my padawan - but tough and wiry and knowledgeable about the environment. When Obi-Wan asked him where he had picked up such skills, he merely laughed and replied that he was a fifth circle torchbearer - a distinction that meant nothing to us, of course, but seemed a source of great pride to him. Whatever the source of his abilities, they served us exceedingly well, but not, as it happened, quite well enough._

_We had been on the run for days - more days than we could remember - and I see now that we had relaxed our guard just slightly, in the belief that the worst was behind us. Or, more accurately perhaps, we had allowed ourselves to be lulled into a false sense of complacency, in the mistaken belief that the primitive nature of our enemy's bloodlust indicated an equally primitive intellect. Chymgi, to his credit, continually attempted to persuade us differently, but we failed to take his warnings to heart._

_Unfortunately, he was the first of us to pay for our foolishness._

_Despite the hardships of our journey through the wilderness, Obi-Wan had begun to recover something of his equilibrium. He had resisted all of my attempts to discuss Dalk's death and his role in it, but he had allowed me to guide him into meditation, to help him reconcile his actions within the Force. There was, of course, limited time for such endeavors, but he seemed to be making progress. In his efforts to overcome the shadows that hovered around him so thickly, I believe that Chymgi and his natural ebullience may have been more effective in helping him repel the darkness than any efforts I made. But there was still a deep, pulsing ache within him, and my own concerns led me to be grateful for aid, no matter what the source. My purpose in life, by this time, had been reduced to a simple, three-word cadence: Get Obi-Wan away!_

_To that end, I instructed my apprentice, always an inveterate tinkerer, to cannibalize our two remaining comm-units and cobble together an emergency beacon that we affixed at the apex of the highest peak in the area. The fusion fuel cells that powered the device would continue to generate the pulsed signals until time itself ground to a stop, but the arc of broadcast was directional and thus, severely limited. The beacon was much like a stationary searchlight, detectible only if the receiver was within the narrow band covered by the signal. Thus, the coded message might travel forever through the darkness of the space time continuum and never be intercepted at all._

_Or we_ might _be lucky enough to snag someone's attention, and that someone might choose to forward the signal to someone who might choose to act on it. Or they might just as easily ignore it. The galaxy was crowded with individuals whose primary purpose in life was to avoid getting involved, at all costs._

_The Jedi, of course, would come looking for us eventually, but it would be quite some time before they became alarmed over our failure to communicate. Field operatives frequently vanished into their missions for months at a time._

_I knew that our hopes were slim, but I chose not to share this with my padawan. Nevertheless, he knew. My Obi-Wan was nothing if not intuitive._

_He knew. I think he knew it all, long before I did._

_The Megijim remained reluctant to pursue us into the narrow confines of the system of caves that ran like fracture lines through the rolling mountains and foothills that continued for many kilometers off toward the sea, and the layers of rough igneous stone that formed the tectonic foundation of the whole area seemed to be strewn with pockets of some kind of metallic ore that emitted a type of magnetic resonance - a strange, variable energy that apparently wrought havoc with mechanical sensors and even had an odd, irritating effect on Force consciousness. Obi-Wan described it as an "itch" that could not be scratched._

_It was not intense enough to cause great difficulty for us, but it was a constant annoyance which made us both somewhat testy, and which caused a kind of static to flare at unexpected moments within the bond that connected us. Thus, I could not always access my padawan's inner thoughts, nor penetrate the thin shielding that he wrapped around himself. I cannot express how deeply I regret the quality of silence that fell between us during that time or how much I would give to know what whispered in his heart as he stood at my back, protective and defensive as always, in that shadowed wilderness._

_Our enemies had tried to send probe droids into the caverns to seek us out, but without success, as their sonar guidance systems were totally confused by the magnetic emissions._

_So we breathed a bit easier and let ourselves forget how resourceful and determined they could be._

_When it became obvious that they could not come after us themselves, and their sensor probes were useless, they realized that they had to find another option, if they were to succeed in their search. They must compel the help of those who were not unable to function within the confines of the underground passages, and they were quick to demonstrate their mastery of psychological coercion._

_They made no attempts at persuasion or bribery, knowing full well that there was a measure of intrinsic honor among the other tribes of Re'helia, and that any such efforts would be futile. Instead, they followed the brutal protocols that had served them so well throughout their existence; they went for the jugular._

_A storm was brewing in the west, where the sun was plunging into a roiling mass of clouds, as we made our way along the path of a swift underground river, toward a wide, low-ceilinged exit into a narrow valley that would afford us some measure of cover within thickly-forested walls and allow us a respite of sorts. We had slept little over the previous three days, and I could feel Obi-Wan's weariness as it radiated from him, escaping the faltering strength of his shields, as he squinted against the actinic flares of lightening that bathed the cavern in garish brilliance. We were both footsore and lethargic with a desperate need for rest, and he was favoring one leg, following a rockslide that had sent him tumbling into a narrow pit, filled with razor-sharp shards of rough crystal. I had managed to heal the worst of the resulting injuries and staunch the flow of blood from dozens of cuts and gouges, but the deep bruising refused my efforts, and I was concerned over the possibility of infection. In the absence of a medical kit - lost in the backpack carried by Knight Parijium - we were forced to rely on herbal remedies provided by our native guide, and, so far, the compresses, composed of the skin of a pulpy, seedless fruit which grew on low vines in marshy areas around the plethora of waterways throughout the area, and the sap obtained from the crushed leaves of a ubiquitous flowering shrub called alotia, seemed to be working. Despite the pronounced limp that he could not quite dispel, he exhibited no symptoms of infection_

_Chymgi had proven himself to be an invaluable ally for us, resourceful, skilled in living off the land, knowledgeable about local flora and fauna, and, almost as important, a pleasant companion for my apprentice, a diversion to pull him out of the dark meanderings of his thoughts and remind him of his own natural exuberance and resilience, reflected so warmly in the personality of this young man/child._

_Ordinarily, when venturing out of the protection of the caverns, I was at the forefront of our little column. Over the term of our journey, we had come to realize that, although the Megijim were not, themselves, detectable within the Force, there was a method for discerning their presence. While the Force - to my incredulity - seemed not to flow through them, as it flowed through all living things, it did, nevertheless, flow around them. It required the keenest Force sense to detect it, but they appeared within the great energy field as a null point - a void, similar to the swelling vacuum that occurs when any living thing dies. Obi-Wan, under my guidance, had begun to be able to sense it, and to gain some degree of directional guidance from it, but he was still the novice, and his judgment was tentative. I was the Master._

_If I had not already understood the fickle treachery of random chance, I would have learned it that day._

_It was Chymgi who led the way toward the exit, concentrating on keeping his footing on the slickness of moss-crusted stone, and regaling Obi-Wan with a tale of how he and his sister had attempted to achieve the miracle of flight by building a sail out of reeds, baling wire, and a dozen of their mother's petticoats, sewn together. His account of the inevitable conclusion of their venture, tangled helplessly in the canopy of a wiebula tree as they endured the righteous outrage of a mother rubia bird, who perceived their precipitous arrival as a threat to her nestlings, resulted in something totally unexpected._

_My heart literally clinched within my chest as I was treated to a sound I had not heard in far too long - the bright, rippling sound of Obi-Wan's laughter. It was necessarily restricted by the bruising on his torso as he braced his ribs with a steady hand, but to this very day, I don't believe I've ever heard anything quite so beautiful._

_So stunned was I in my sudden realization of how much I had missed that sound, that I paused and braced myself momentarily against an arch of stone above my head, and felt something skitter away from my fingers and tumble free, falling in silence except for a soft chittering._

_I looked down in time to see the jinketh land at my feet, bounce once, and come to a stop just inches away from the drop-off that would send it straight down into the rushing torrent of the river. Which would probably not have mattered much, since the tiny eight-legged creature with its bulbous head and fan-shaped tale, all protruding from a semi-circular shell of overlapping, copper-colored plates, was amphibian by nature, but this particular little fellow was extremely small, and I adjudged that there must be a frantic parent somewhere nearby._

_I glanced toward my padawan, just in time to see a flash of actinic brilliance bathe his face in a wash of silver and emphasize the smile that still touched his face, and reasoned that that frantic parent and I had much in common._

_The tiny jinketh had landed on its back, and it too must have been increasingly frightened as it struggled, unsuccessfully, to right itself, and then, to grow as still as stone and blend into the rock beneath it as a massive alien monster, a figment straight out of whatever nightmare its tiny mind could create, leant forward and extended a single, huge appendage._

_It was as I lifted the tiny creature back to the ledge from which it had fallen that I felt it, felt the black grip of horror close around my heart. I forgot the jinketh, forgot where we were and why we were there, forgot the purpose for our existence, forgot everything except the one overriding imperative in my mind. My lightsaber was in my hand, ignited to emerald brilliance, as I leapt forward, even as I realized that the distance was too great._

_I could only save one, and there was never any question of which one it would be._

_What happened next took place in a matter of moments, but it always played out in my memory as if it occurred in slow motion. As I grasped Obi-Wan to my chest and yanked him back into the shelter of the cave, I saw Chymgi caught up by a muscular forearm, reinforced with ribs of dark metal, his head jerked back against a torso spiked with armaments, as a gauntleted fist moved toward his throat, a cylindrical object, tipped with a viciously sharp needle, aiming for the soft flesh beneath his jaw. There was no hesitation, no opportunity for him to twist away. The needle found its mark, and the cylinder glinted ominously as a mercurial liquid was injected into his body._

_I tried to look away then, tried not to see his eyes as hope died within him. He knew what he was facing, I think, but he tried desperately to reach out through his fear, to extend himself into the gap that separated him from my Obi-Wan. I did not know at the time what he sought to do, but Obi-Wan knew._

_He wanted to say good-bye._

_But he never made a sound, or, at least, if he did, I didn't hear it._

_If he spoke at all, it was lost in the terrible scream of denial that tore from my padawan's throat._

_Even as I moved, even as he struggled, I was not sure I could save either of us; the Megijim were very close and very fast, and I had no illusions about any reluctance to use their brutal weaponry against us; so I did what I knew I had to do, moving automatically, shutting down any mental projections and living only in the moment, expecting nothing. What I most definitely did not expect was that the boy in my arms, the child of my heart, would fight to free himself from my grasp._

_Later, we would talk about it, and I would ask him why. Or, to be more accurate, I would talk about it, and he would simply look at me, unwilling or unable to explain himself. I could not reach into his mind as he struggled against me; I could only read what was in his eyes._

_That was the second time I saw death within those crystal depths._

_I knew then that he wanted to die, that he did not want to survive if it meant that someone else must perish in his place, and the anguished cry in his mind was like a blade in my heart._

_"It should have been me."_

_He never uttered the words, but I heard them just the same._

_He believed that Chymgi had willingly surged forward, to embrace his own destruction, in a misguided act of loyalty and self-sacrifice, and there was nothing I could say or do to convince him otherwise. In truth, I have never been sure that he was wrong._

_I dragged him away from the mouth of that cave, back into the labyrinth of passages, and found a narrow grotto floored with drifts of a soft stone, ground into sand over the millennia by the friction of air currents and shifting river beds. He was still struggling to free himself, beating at me with his fists and clawing with rigid fingers, and sobbing like a wild thing._

_In the end, all I could do was wrap him in my arms and bear him down to the ground, using my greater mass to force him to submit. I don't know how long he writhed against me, using every ounce of strength he could muster to try to push me away. Finally, I think it was simply exhaustion that caused him to give over, and he lay helpless at last, shivering and weeping without sound._

_I sat up then and gathered him in my lap, and was grateful that he allowed it, and I tried to settle us for the night, murmuring a silent entreaty to the Force that we be granted a few hours to gather our wits._

_I don't remember what I said to him as we sat there in the darkness - nonsense, probably, and soothing assurances that had no connection to reality. For his part, he was silent, but, when I would shift my body in an attempt to make both of us more comfortable, he would stiffen against me and wrap his fists in the worn fabric of my robes while bracing his face against my chest._

_I was never sure what those actions meant, but I hope it was proof that he took some sort of comfort from my presence. Still, I can't be sure, for he never said so._

_After several hours, I sensed him slipping into an exhausted slumber, releasing the hold on his painful awareness of the moment. Still, as he fell into oblivion, he murmured a single phrase, the first words he'd spoken, which struck cold terror into my heart._

_"They were waiting," he breathed._

_I had not let myself consider it, concentrating instead on wrapping him in the gentlest drapes of Force tenderness, attempting to soothe away the tightness that gripped him and knotted his muscles. But there was no avoiding the truth of it. He was right. They had known we were coming._

_It went without saying that we had been betrayed, by one of the extremely limited number of persons who had known where we would emerge from the caverns. I pondered as he slept, examining my memories and the impressions I had gleaned during our brief brush with the enemy, and my conclusions were inescapable. From the Megijim themselves, I had sensed little, but they had not been alone in their vigil._

_There had been several members of another tribe standing nearby, brutalized, beaten, shivering, filled with regret, terrified - not for themselves, but for loved ones, taken and tortured by the Megij warriors - and threatened with horrible, slow death unless the outworlders were given up and led into a trap._

_Yes, our enemies had once again proven themselves to be cunning and heartless._

_I doubted that those held ransom would survive their ordeal for long, but it was not yet at an end, for the Megijim had one more step to take, one more mystery to unlock, one more realization to experience, and the game would be over._

_As my time sense signaled that a new day was at hand, I stirred and surfaced from my light meditation, to find Obi-Wan staring up at me with dark, wounded eyes._

_"No more," he whispered. "Please, no more."_

_I smoothed soft, spiky hair away from his face, and straightened the tangle of his braid before answering. I even considered pretending to mistake his meaning, but, in the end, I couldn't._

_I just nodded. "No more."_

_In wordless accord, we prepared ourselves, both taking some comfort from the familiarity of rituals that had governed and regulated every day of our lives. We washed in the bracing chill of the river, and spent some time in meditation, before rising to perform basic katas to set the blood flowing and soothe the muscles. With fingers that trembled only slightly, I replaited his braid, and spared a few moments to pour as much healing energy into his still-battered body as I could spare._

_If we must stride forward to meet our fate, I was determined he would not limp during the journey._

_When the time came, he looked up at me, and favored me with the smile that had broken - and mended - my heart so many times, the smile that spoke of ultimate trust, ultimate devotion, ultimate commitment._

_I placed my hands on his shoulders, and kissed his forehead, overwhelmed with love and pride. "In all things," I whispered, "you are Jedi. Remember that."_

_I stepped back and started to turn away._

_"Master?"_

_I felt tears rise in my eyes, and found myself unable to look at him. "Yes?"_

_"Thank you, Master. For my life, and everything in it."_

_By all the little gods, was it possible that he did not know - that he did not understand that it was I who owed a bottomless debt of gratitude?_

_I found myself unable to speak, and I let the moment pass._

_Later, I would remember the beat of silence and know that I had lost the chance to say what should have been said. How many times, I've asked myself over the years, do we squander such an opportunity? How many times do we choose to hold on to our stupid pride and our silly façade of dignity and let truth drift away into nothingness?_

_They were waiting, of course, but, as it turned out, they had not taken that final quantum leap of logic. It had been unnecessary, as someone else had taken it for them._

_Chymgi had called them Soul Eaters; now we would learn why._

_The boy who had befriended my padawan, who had laughed with him and raced with him and provided what little joy this tainted world allowed and recited the legends and songs of the great tribes for him, who had braced him as he climbed and shared his food with him and slept spooned against him in the chill of the night, stood in the midst of the group that awaited us, their horrible weapons trained upon us, although the ugly smirks on their faces indicated that they knew the weapons would not be needed. His expression was not difficult to read; his smile was triumphant, and his hands, clasped roughly on the shoulders of a tiny girl, surely no more than two years old, clenched and unclenched in spasmodic fashion, as if he could barely restrain the impulse to shift them to a choke hold on her slender throat and squeeze the life from her bruised little body._

_Chymgi had provided the ultimate weapon, which stood motionless, terrified into immobility, beneath his grip; Chymgi, who understood that the lives lost during our frantic efforts to escape weighed ever more heavily on the heart of my apprentice; who knew that neither of us could stand by and allow an innocent being to suffer or die in our place. Chymgi, who had once inhabited the slender body that stood before us, and who knew us well enough to set this trap, but who retained nothing of the bonds of affection and commitment that had once tied him to my padawan._

_"Welcome to Quelqaja Valley," he said, eyes that once held nothing but warmth and compassion now flecked with ice. "You're late."_

_For some reason that I've never fully analyzed, the details of the setting in that wooded valley have formed an indelible image in my mind. If I close my eyes, I can see it still: the low mist that clung to shrubs and undergrowth, reducing brilliant shades of emerald and jade to pastel smears of mint and pearl; the sharp angled light of new morning, reflecting and glittering in the beads of dew that clung to thick, succulent foliage on the trees that surrounded the clearing in which we stood; the tumult of the river water as it leapt the last lichened boulder in its path and boiled the surface of a broad stone-lined pool, before draining away into the hidden channel that continued its subterranean surge to the sea, still many kilometers distant. I can still hear the passage of a capricious wind through the trees, and the distant screech of birds of prey soaring high against the rosy fingers of dawn. I can even smell the slightly bitter tang of approaching autumn, reflecting in flickers of gold and scarlet among the greenery._

_The Megijim, in full battle array, grim and vigilant, wearing the scars won in combat with fierce pride and others, created as body art with blade, and needle, and acid, with arrogance and contempt for those who chose to remain unmarked, were arranged in a semi-circle surrounding Chymgi, and the tallest and most powerfully built of them all, who also bore the most intricate markings on his face and torso, stood at the boy's back, one hand, enhanced with viciously clawed implants in his knuckles, braced on the youth's narrow shoulder._

_A marking - raw in its newness - in the shape of a clinched fist, stood out blood-red against the boy's throat._

_Off to our right, in a small circular space dappled with morning light, a half-dozen individuals - Re'helian, but not Megijim - stood in numbed silence, their faces filled with foreboding, their bodies stiff with fear. These were the villagers whose homes nestled within this valley, the tribal people who had known that we were making our way toward them. These were our betrayers, but I knew, as did my padawan, that they had earned no enmity from us; they had done only what they must, to ransom their loved ones who had been wrenched from them._

_And now they stood frozen and rigid, consumed with shame and guilt, regretting what they had been forced to do, hoping against hope that the sacrifice of their personal honor had not been in vain, but with no assurance that the Megij would live up to their part of the terrible bargain they had struck._

_Most vividly of all, I remember the vision that was my Obi-Wan - tall and straight and brimming with courage, refusing to flinch away from the contempt and hatred and vile lewdness that flamed in the eyes of our captors. He faced them all and accepted the cruel judgment of fate, tranquility wrapped around him like a cloak. He expected to be beaten and defiled, tortured and mutilated, but he would die a Jedi._

_He was exquisitely beautiful, and I felt an incredible flare of agony within my chest as I looked up and realized that the Megijim leader had arrived at the same conclusion._

_My padawan was ready to die, prepared to surrender his life with dignity and composure, but I knew immediately, with a sick certainty rising in my soul, that he would not be allowed to do so._

_Not yet, anyway, and, possibly, not for a very long time._

_All of this took place in a matter of seconds, though the memory is distorted and seems much longer._

_I understood the full scope of events developing around us, proceeding to their inevitable conclusion, just moments before the unavoidable truth was laid out before us; just as my padawan was forced to endure a revelation that would ultimately consume him. I tried to shield him, tried to reach him through the bond, but it was too late. He had already erected whatever scraps of shielding he had left, to try to stave off the horror that awaited him, but it was a futile effort._

_"I am Kreivag, Shamm'rai of the Megijim." The chief stepped forward, and extended one twisted talon, to trace the line of Obi-Wan's jaw. "And now, outworlders, you belong to me, and your obedience must be absolute, or there will be consequences."_

_He leaned forward then, and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of my padawan, and stroked his hands over shoulders and torso. "Perfect," he whispered, before turning to smile at me. "Strong, exquisitely formed, young enough to be molded. Truly a gift from the gods. He will serve me long and well."_

_"He is Jedi," I said softly, sensing the tremors that were pulsing beneath Obi-Wan's calm demeanor, threatening to overwhelm him and demolish his serene facade. "He belongs to no one."_

_Kreivag's smile grew wider. "Defiance will not be tolerated, Jedi." He turned once more to study Obi-Wan, obviously pleased with what he saw. "But I will not have this one marked - not yet. So we will make a bargain, yes? The two of us. If he displeases me . . ." the smile grew feral, and he bared his teeth, "you, Old Man, will bear the punishment for his offences."_

_"No!" Obi-Wan recoiled, moving quickly to place himself between me and the Shamm'rai._

_"Padawan," I began, prepared to wheedle, and cajole and coerce, if necessary._

_But Obi-Wan was having none of it. "No," he repeated, and there was a measure of Force in his voice, although it was obviously wasted on our cretinous audience._

_The Shamm'rai chuckled and glanced once more at me. "You would do well to leash your cub, Jedi. Fire in the blood," he intoned, his voice dropping to a whisper, "is truly beautiful, but deadly. I cannot, of course, allow it to go unpunished."_

_With that, he raised one hand, and a sharp gesture to a group of his warriors resulted in our being relieved of our weapons, and restrained by rough, cruel hands. When we thought to offer more than token resistance, the bright flash of a dagger, appearing at the throat of the little girl in Chymgi's grasp, was enough to guarantee our cooperation._

_Krievag stepped back then, and laid his palm against Chymgi's back, to give him a little push. Beyond that, he simply jerked his head and narrowed his eyes._

_The boy did not hesitate. He moved away from the little girl, and reached out to retrieve a small, angular device, mounted atop a bulbous container, from one of the warriors at his back._

_At that moment, there was a flurry of sound and motion from the treeline to our left, and a group of natives, mostly children, raced forward, pushing and tumbling over themselves in their eagerness to reach the villagers who stood waiting. A quick survey of the faces in that tiny group revealed relief and tears of gladness, but the fear was yet unabated. The ransomed were being released, but none dared assume that true freedom was yet at hand._

_They were, of course, entirely right._

_Chymgi stood motionless - waiting - until, acting on an impulse that even he would probably never understand, he reached up and wrapped slender fingers around my padawan's forearm._

_I thought then - and still believe - that no one in the galaxy could have known Obi-Wan better than I did, but I could not, for that moment, divine the meaning of his reaction. He recoiled, as if brushed by flame, and his eyes smoldered with a terrible revelation, as if he had been forced to know something that he would have sold his soul not to know._

_Then the native youth, late friend of my apprentice, still wrapped in the dewy freshness of childhood innocence, regarded Obi-Wan with a solemn gaze, before moving off to wait until the recovered hostages reached the welcome of their family's arms. At that point, he calmly raised his weapon and opened fire, spreading a torrent of liquid flame over their bodies. He did not falter, continuing until they were utterly consumed._

_Both my padawan and I struggled violently against the inhumanly strong arms that restrained us, and attempted to reach out through the Force, to provide some measure of protection for the victims. But, in the end, all we were able to do was offer them the solace of death._

_I learned that day that the vocal chords of humanoids can generate sounds that would seem to be beyond the range of possibility, assaulting the conscious mind with raw agony, outside the limits of reason._

_I learned that I had never really experienced the true odor of carnage before, not even in the war-torn hells that sometimes still invaded my dreams. The smell was indescribable,- unbearable._

_But I was a Jedi Master; I could endure what I must._

_With the only strength I had left in me, the last gasp of reason, I lunged forward and pulled my padawan into my arms, enclosing him within the tattered remains of my shielding, only then allowing myself to collapse under the incredible, deafening barrage of grief and suffering. In the near stupor of a spirit driven beyond rational thought, I clung still to the Light that was Obi-Wan, seeking solace in his warmth, but noting even then that, once again, something had flexed within the framework of the Force, and faded into non-existence._

_Another gleam of purity had been extinguished within the aura of the boy clasped so tightly against me._

_I welcomed the darkness of oblivion, only just remembering to be grateful that the Force, in its infinite mercy, had already moved to close down my padawan's mind, realizing, as I did, that he could tolerate no more, and I wondered if he had felt it, had noticed it, when another little piece of his soul had relinquished its grip on life._

_Fourteen Re'helians died that morning at the hands of a child - a child who showed not a single trace of remorse or reluctance or emotional investment: four men, three women, and seven children, all members of the Tre'viss Clan, as we later learned, and the terrible darkness that sought to swallow all light and goodness on that primitive world fed on the bloodlust and the depravity and licked its claws in gleeful repletion._

_I would remember it for the rest of my life as a wilderness of incomparable beauty, masking an ugliness that was too hideous to bear._

_The planet and the evil it nurtured was destroying my padawan, one piece at a time._

_Within my arms and sheltered by the bulk of my body, exhausted, devastated, and unable to find a hope to cling to, he surrendered willingly to the solace of sleep._

* * * * * * * * * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_They confined us in a cubical, barracks-like building, stark and comfortless, a one-room structure with a tiny 'fresher concealed in a corner alcove, crude and primitive in appearance, but constructed of a tough, multi-layered alloy that was permeated with the same metallic substance that was so widespread in the underground caverns. Within the Force, its molecular pattern was unmistakable, but it had obviously been refined and stripped of impurities before being used as building material, for the energy it generated was much more intense than that created by the substance in its natural state, and its ability to interfere with our connection to the Force was greatly enhanced. In addition, we were regularly injected with some type of noxious potion, which further dulled our perceptions and sapped our strength._

_My symptoms were confined to a dull, pounding ache at the base of my skull, a pervasive nausea, and a mild loss of equilibrium, in addition to a sense of remoteness, as if I were wrapped in a thick, viscous liquid. The Force was still there in my consciousness, but it responded only sluggishly to my attempts to harness it. I felt clumsy and disoriented._

_Obi-Wan, on the other hand, seemed much more effected, and his condition worsened over the three days following our capture. He developed a hyper-sensitivity to light that fostered blinding headaches, was stricken with debilitating abdominal and muscle cramps and nausea, and could not regulate his body temperature. He shivered constantly, and could not tolerate food at all, and managed only occasional sips of water. I monitored him constantly for signs of dehydration. As for his ability to touch the Force, I could sense nothing, and he did not comment. Our bond, of course, was muted and constricted, making us both even more uneasy than we would have been otherwise._

_My instincts insisted that a time of crisis was at hand - that my padawan needed my constant presence in his mind as never before - but all my efforts to reforge our connection and open the conduit between us were futile, and I was reluctant to utilize my full mental powers in the attempt, for fear of causing irreparable damage to both the bond and the mind of my apprentice. It did not require the skills of a healer to understand that he was growing ever more vulnerable as our captivity wore on._

_The weakness in his body was cause for concern, but it was the look in his eyes that generated the constant ache in my heart._

_During the years of our partnership, he had undergone great hardships. I had seen him wounded, terrified, panic-stricken, enraged, desperate, and filled with despair. Jedi or not, we were still human, and vulnerable to all the emotional burdens of that condition. There were traces of all those feelings and more in the aura that bled through his shielding as we endured our captivity, but there was one thing more; one thing I could not recall ever sensing within him before._

_My young apprentice seemed haunted and determined to keep the cause to himself._

_He did not complain, however, following the commands of our captors without resistance, and seeing to my needs, as much as was possible under the constraints placed upon us, ignoring my objections as he always did. Nevertheless, every passing hour increased my alarm over his deterioration._

_Fortunately, little was asked of us during those long, empty hours. After determining that there was no hope of escape from our cell, we spent our time in reviewing his academic records, to decide which classes he would need to take in the upcoming semester, and in discussion about philosophical points about which he was unclear, or, in some cases, about which he vehemently disagreed with the prevailing wisdom of the Order. My padawan would never be convinced of the validity of an argument simply because of judgments made by some long dead Master. I smiled to myself, during moments when his passions would flare and he would be overcome with outrage or resentment, and wondered if those who had nicknamed him "Jinn's Perfect Padawan" would have recognized him then, would have understood that Obi-Wan followed my lead only from a sense of commitment and loyalty, but would never follow any lead blindly or in opposition to the dictates of his conscience or the guidance of the Force, which was his constant companion._

_It was a truth I had always known; it would break his heart to do so, but, if compelled by his own sense of rightness and the will of the Force, he would stand against me, candidly, openly._

_I wondered as I knelt on my rough pallet, watching dust motes drift in shafts of bright sunlight pouring through the tiny skylight above us and noting how the brightness struck sparks of copper fire from his hair, if he knew how proud he made me, every time he dared to oppose me, every time he paused to look into his own heart and gather the courage to reject my conclusions and argue his own._

_I spent a few moments then reflecting on my incredible good fortune. He would become a great Jedi knight, of that I was certain. Which did nothing to relieve my anxiety about the uneasiness which was plaguing him so constantly, even to the point of interfering with his sleep._

_The Megijim ignored us, for the most part, but they were vigilant. While they seldom addressed us directly, they watched our every move from a small catwalk that surrounded our little prison, and they were mindful of what they knew of our abilities. Later, we would learn that they actually knew very little, but they were wary to the point of paranoia, and took no chances._

_Occasionally, Kreivag would arrive, always with Chymgi at his side, and make a point of stalking into our cell, and gesturing for Obi-Wan to rise and stand at attention. His body language was as unmistakable as if he had spoken, as he kept one hand on the Re'helian child at all times, underscoring the boy's vulnerability. During those visits, he said little, contenting himself with circling my apprentice, eyes narrow and calculating. Once in a while, he would reach out and stroke a claw across a muscle or a tendon, leaving a fine line of blood on the abused skin. Then, when Obi-Wan refused to flinch or grimace or respond in any way, he would laugh, baring sharpened teeth._

_Twice, he instructed my padawan to 'dance' for him, which Obi-Wan correctly interpreted as a command to perform one of the katas that we continued to practice together each morning. As he obeyed, inevitably selecting the Broken Wind segment of the Fourth Intermediate, with its emphasis on aerial maneuvers, the Shamm'rai seemed to lose himself in the rhythm of the performance, his eyes glazed and unfocused and glittering with hunger._

_And the dread that lived within me constantly by this time swelled and threatened to choke me, as despair flooded my heart._

_When the dance was done, and Obi-Wan was left exhausted and breathless, which was decidedly not the norm after such mild exercise, the Megijim leader would depart without comment, but I noticed, each time, that, during the course of the performance, his brutish fingers with their thick, cruel talons would embed themselves in the flesh of Chymgi's throat and back, causing a gush of bright, arterial blood. The child gave no indication of being aware of the injuries._

_Both my apprentice and I had expended time and energy in our efforts to observe our captors and flesh out the pitifully thin store of information we had on them, but our efforts were largely unsuccessful. While we were watched constantly, the observation was always from a distance, affording us little chance to learn anything meaningful. Attempts to probe them through the Force were both futile and exhausting, as neither of us was able to access our Force senses with any degree of control, and it was doubtful that doing so would have garnered us any success anyway. There were certain species that were naturally resistant to the powers that gave us our Jedi skills, and the Megijim were definitely among that number._

_Late in the afternoon of the third day, at the hour when our guards would usually appear with a clay bowl of some savory stew or soup, a loaf of coarse bread, and a flagon of a tart, watery wine, the routine was disrupted. Instead of the stocky, dark-skinned individual who usually limped into our cell and communicated only with grunts and crude gestures, under the careful scrutiny of two who watched from just within the narrow door, which was the only egress to the outside, two individuals entered, their heads covered with rough-woven hoods. They carried no containers or utensils, and they moved forward tentatively, keeping their faces averted._

_One of them paused, and stood stiffly, arms clasped across the chest, glancing back over a shoulder toward the two brawny warriors who stood guard in the doorway, while the other crossed the room, arms extended forward, and knelt at the feet of my padawan, presenting him with a garment of rich, lustrous fabric of deep forest green._

_Obi-Wan, whose skin had taken on a pallor that bordered on translucence during our incarceration, simply shook his head. "I can't," he whispered, taking a step backward and clasping his hands behind him._

_"Please, young one," said the figure at his feet, and I was not surprised to realize that this was someone we had not met before. This was a Megijim female, and her voice trembled with fear. "If you refuse, our Lord will be displeased."_

_"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, still softspoken, but unyielding as stone._

_"You are 'Azzurri, and you are to dine with Lord Kreivag. You must be dressed suitably."_

_To my surprise, I saw a flare of mischief in those jewel-toned eyes I loved so well. "And my Master? Is he considered sufficiently elegant in his Master's robes?"_

_The woman cleared her throat, generating a sound that was almost a snort. "He is 'Athemas, and of no importance."_

_I closed my eyes and barely avoided sighing, understanding, as she did not, that her dismissal of me had only succeeded in firming my padawan's resolve._

_"I'm sorry," said my apprentice, his jaw firm despite the gentle tone of his words, as he settled himself on one of the rough pallets that comprised our furniture. "Take it away."_

_"Padawan," I said softly, lifting a hand to give him pause, before kneeling to look up into the face hidden by the deep hood, a face worn with care and hardship. "Tell me, Lady, who will be punished if this . . . gift is refused?"_

_The old woman, spine bowed under the burden of time, sighed. "My sister and I will be beaten, Sir Jedi."_

_Obi-Wan, despite his growing weariness, surged to his feet as if reinvigorated. "That's . . . barbarous," he growled. "What kind of vermin live like this?"_

_The individual who had chosen to remain near the door reached up then to push back a deep hood, revealing features of a surprisingly patrician nature, almost obscured by a web of rough scarring. She was old - obviously the older of the two - but her back was unbent, though whether from better physical conditioning or simply greater determination was uncertain._

_"It is our way, Jedi," she said coldly. "And it has been our way through countless generations. Who are you to come here and challenge who we are and how we live?"_

_But if she expected my padawan to be cowed by her arrogant assertions, she was doomed to be disappointed, as Obi-Wan had never learned how to back down from a position in which he believed himself right. "When you inflict your way on those who would choose differently, you generate a darkness that cries out for justice. And we're compelled to answer that cry."_

_The woman smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I see now why he's so taken with you, Young Jedi. There is little enjoyment to be had in breaking an enemy who is without spirit. You . . ." the smile became a death's head grin ". . . will provide many hours of pleasure."_

_"In that case," asked my apprentice, anger glinting darkly in his eyes, "why should I care if you're beaten for my lack of co-operation?"_

_She leapt forward, surprisingly agile for one of her years, and gripped his chin with a clawed hand. "You shouldn't," she hissed, twisting her fingers to generate new bruises on the pallor of his face, "but you do. That is your weakness, not mine."_

_With a peremptory gesture, she gathered the garment in question from the arms of her sister and dropped it at his feet. "You will bathe and wear it or not, as you like. We are prepared to deal with the consequences. Are you?"_

_They left us without a backward glance, contempt written in every line of their bodies, and Obi-Wan looked at me with a weary smile. I hadn't been his Master for so many years without learning to understand the meaning of the constantly shifting shades of color in his eyes. At that moment, they were the deep gray of a storm cloud, an accurate reflection of the emotions churning within him._

_An endlessly fascinating study in contrasts was my Obi-Wan. If the tribal chief had ordered him to chain himself to a post, in preparation for being lashed to bloody ribbons, he would have complied without so much as frown. But now, having been commanded to bathe and wrap himself in 'suitable' clothing, he was biting at his lower lip and only just managing to avoid growling out his frustration._

_It occurred to me then that, just maybe, he was not quite as oblivious to the prurience of Kreivag's interest as I had supposed. I closed my eyes, seeking serenity and finding very little._

_"Obi-Wan," I said finally, projecting as much soothing calm as I could, "it's only a piece of clothing. And, despite the fact that there's absolutely no reason for you to concern yourself with the well-being of those two crones, who would probably sit up and beg for a chance to slice you into mincemeat, you will anyway. It's part of who you are, and their inability to appreciate that is their problem. Not yours. As for this . . ." I leaned forward and scooped up the lustrous garment, finding it heavier than I'd expected, "remember the first lesson you learned as a Jedi."_

_His smile was not entirely steady, but he managed to meet my eyes without flinching. "Choose your battles," he recited._

_I reached out and straightened his braid. "Padawan, I . . ."_

_"It's late," he said quickly. "Guess I should see if I can coax a trickle of water out of that shower."_

_I let him go, knowing that he had only managed to postpone the inevitable. Whether he was reluctant or not, a crisis was approaching. Even with my Force senses suppressed, I felt a swirl of shadows around him and knew that it was time to force the issue._

_I found a comfortable spot in a beam of late sunlight, and composed myself to wait._

_When he emerged from the tiny alcove that served as a 'fresher, it was difficult to suppress a gasp of surprise. I was reminded, in that moment, of a comment once made by his good friend, Bant, as their little cadre had prepared for a rare night on the town. The entire group had been assembled in our common room, when Obi-Wan had strolled out of his bedroom, dressed in dark gray suede and pale gray silk, and the room had gone silent._

_"Stars and constellations, Kenobi!" the Calamarian had exclaimed. "You should be arrested for unlawful enticement by a minor. Somebody throw a cape over that body."_

_The laughter that erupted had been warm and affectionate, but I had turned to exchange quick glances with two of my padawan's brawnier companions._

_I didn't really distrust Obi-Wan's ability to take care of himself, but I saw no reason to take unnecessary risks or to fail to take advantage of a bit of extra insurance. It would take a very daring rogue indeed to take on two obviously Jedi young bruisers exhibiting decidedly protective tendencies._

_Obi-Wan had been distracted by the friendly ribbing from his companions, and noticed nothing, just as I intended. As he tugged and prodded at his attire in the shadowed environment of our cell, I wondered briefly if anyone had ever disclosed to him the nature of the little unspoken agreement that existed between his Master and his more lumbering friends. Somehow, I doubted it, as I thought I would almost certainly have been confronted and accused of nefarious dealings and 'conduct unbecoming' if he had known._

_The deep green garment was simply designed, a sleeveless, one-piece jumpsuit with a short cape attached. It was neither overly tight nor revealing, though the deep V of the neck left most of his chest bare. Bands of thickly padded, metallic stitching circled the throat and the lower edges of the trousers, worked in shades of garnet and bronze, and the cut of the leggings would not accommodate his boots, much to his annoyance. The fabric was soft and glossy, and tended to cling slightly, and to accentuate the shift of muscles and sinew as he moved. It also turned his eyes the color of Alderaanian emeralds. He looked very young._

_It was attire designed to emphasize physical beauty - which it did - but it could have been much worse._

_His hair was still damp, and curling slightly, a sure indication that a haircut was in order, and I motioned for him to sit before me so I could redo his padawan braid, a ritual that we both found comforting in its familiarity, and that we performed daily whenever possible._

_I separated the silky, copper gold strands, and assembled the beads and ties I would need to complete the task. And he studied his hands, the straw of the pallet on which we knelt, the rough texture of the stone floor - anything and everything to avoid meeting my eyes._

_I waited until I affixed the final bead, a drop of amber symbolizing his third-level padawan status, before bracing my hands on his shoulders and compelling him to look at me._

_"Beyond the obvious, my padawan, what troubles you?"_

_"Isn't the obvious enough?" he retorted._

_I hadn't long to wait before he realized that his response had been inappropriate. "Forgive me, Master," he said softly, still avoiding my eyes._

_"Look at me, Obi-Wan!"_

_And, finally, he did, for he had no choice. He could no more have defied that tone of voice than he could resist the force of gravity._

_I spoke softly, soothingly. "I had hoped you would come to me on your own, that it would not be necessary for me to question you. But I can't let this continue. Obviously, you are distressed, deeply. Let me help you, Padawan. Let me do what I'm supposed to do. Tell me what's wrong."_

_Even as he reinforced his shielding, I felt the turmoil within him. "Master, I . . . I don't know how to explain it. I just . . ."_

_"As in all things, my apprentice. One step at a time. Even one word at a time, if necessary."_

_He clasped his hands together tightly, and I quickly reached out through the Force and retrieved his robe to wrap around him, against the chill that seemed to be his constant companion in that terrible place._

_"Can I . . ."_

_I slid an arm around his shoulders, and tried to share my warmth with him. "Anything, Obi-Wan. You must know that."_

_He nodded, and moved closer to me, leaning into my embrace, his head falling against my shoulder. Even though I knew he was distraught, it was with a measure of surprise that I realized his face was wet with tears. "If I ask you something," he said finally, tentatively, "will you trust me enough to wait, to let me work this out for myself?"_

_For a moment, I considered my response. He knew, certainly, that he was asking a great deal. Despite his incredible gifts and abilities, he was still a learner, and thus, bound to seek and accept my guidance. But the Master/padawan bond is not just a one-way conduit. He had proven, beyond any doubt, his willingness to subjugate himself to me, to be molded by my hands. Now he was asking for a small return, a tiny portion of the trust he gave to me without reservation._

_"I trust you with my life," I answered. "How could I fail to trust you now? Ask your question."_

_He hesitated, obviously looking for the right words. "Have you ever had to choose between obeying the rules of the Order, and following your instincts?"_

_I rather think that my heart skipped a beat at that moment, but I suppressed the gasp that almost escaped my lips, and forced myself to hesitate, to think before blurting out my knee-jerk response. I even managed a small smile._

_"Have you forgotten who you're speaking to, Padawan? It can't have escaped your notice that your Master is known, in certain circles, as the 'Jedi Maverick'."_

_"So . . . you have faced that choice?"_

_He looked up at me then, and the vulnerability in his eyes was almost more than I could bear. I chose my words with exquisite care. "The answer is yes . . . and no, Obi-Wan. I have been forced to deal with situations sometimes, that seemed to put my obligation to the Order into conflict with guidance from the Force, but, in the end, the contradictions have always been resolved."_

_"How?" he whispered, and I forced myself to ignore the desperation contained in that single syllable._

_I shifted my position, and placed my hands on either side of his face, making sure that the bond between us was as open and unrestricted as I could make it. "You must trust the Force to guide you, Obi-Wan. Everything you have been taught, every rule, every tenet of the Code, is based on the Will of the Force, but sentient beings, no matter how sincere, are fallible. The Force is not. If you do what it asks of you, then you behave as a Jedi should. There is no conflict. The only caution is that you must be sure you're interpreting its message correctly; you must not allow yourself to indulge in wishful thinking."_

_He was silent for a time, obviously brooding over my words, and I was not reassured by his pensiveness. Introspective, he had always been - a tendency I suspected would be a part of his personality throughout his life - but he had never been a brooder. I could only conclude that my assurances had failed to relieve his uncertainties._

_"I hope," I said finally, "that you'll decide soon to trust me with whatever it is that's bothering you so much. Until then, I'll wait, though not, I admit, very patiently."_

_That, at least, drew a tiny smile from him, and a flash of warmth in luminous eyes._

_The metallic screech of bolts being disengaged announced new arrivals, and Obi-Wan looked ruefully down at his bare feet. "Despite the fact that I feel a bit like I've been trussed up and prepared to serve as a leg of nerf, I really hope the bloody bastard doesn't have a foot fetish."_

_When the four warriors finally succeeded in forcing the door and stomping into the cell, they were probably astonished to find me roaring with laughter. In truth, I was a bit astonished myself, and incredibly relieved to find that, despite everything, he could still reach inside himself and bring forth that insouciant, puckish wit that so delighted my heart._

_* * * * * * * * *_

_The setting in which we dined with the Shamm'rai revealed much about the chief's nature, suggesting a core of sensual hedonism beneath his veneer of cruelty and fierce determination. Though the exterior of all the structures in the Megijim city were utilitarian, even primitive, in appearance, the stark simplicity ended at the door._

_The chamber to which we were lead was a sybaritic fantasy, a feast for all the senses, every surface draped with the sheen of silken fabrics and downy cushions, with lighting provided by ornate chandeliers, and the low platform that served as a dining table groaning under the weight of ornate crystal and gilded porcelain. Huge urns, embossed with precious metals, stood around the perimeter of the room, displaying an incredible array of exotic hothouse flowers, accented with sprays of glittering gemstones in a rainbow of colors, and the milky luminescence of periopalines, rarest of the incredibly valuable feria stones._

_Kreivag reclined on a plush gilded divan, watching our approach, Chymgi kneeling at his side. Though the chief was certainly interested in my reaction to this obvious display of wealth and power, he could barely drag his eyes away from my padawan, and Obi-Wan was hard-pressed not to squirm under the intensity of that gaze._

_Low, lushly upholstered banquettes nestled around the table, and, ignoring a peremptory gesture from the Shamm'rai, I nudged my apprentice into a position at my right, beyond the reach of those vicious clawed fingers._

_A flash of bright anger flared in deep-set eyes - almost black in the brilliant glow within the chamber - but he covered it with a smile. He even managed a quick nod to me, a nod that communicated clearly that he was allowing my interference, for the moment._

_"Welcome to my home, Honored Guests," he said, spreading his arms in an expansive gesture, but there was no masking the hunger in his eyes. "I hope, Young one, that my little gift meets with your approval. It suits you. And I hope you're both hungry. My servants will be most disappointed if you don't enjoy your meal."_

_Obi-Wan, responding to a nudge from me, confined his reply to a nod._

_"And if we respectfully decline your offerings?" I asked, more out of curiosity than any lack of hunger._

_His smile was venal. "Then they will have failed to whet your appetite." The smile vanished. "I do not forgive failure."_

_A single lifted finger compelled Chymgi to rise and come around the table, bearing a heavy, carved decanter. He moved with a measured gait, and paused at my side to fill a cut-glass goblet with a pale amber liquid._

_"Good evening, Chymgi," I said softly, turning to look up at him, barely managing not to flinch as I noted the new, acid-etched markings that circled his throat and the upper part of his torso._

_"Master Jinn," he replied, with a small bow. I met his gaze, but there was nothing in his eyes._

_Kreivag laughed softly. "If you're hoping to convert my little poppet, you're wasting your time, Jedi. He's very happy with me, aren't you, Chymgi?"_

_"Yes, my lord," replied to boy, moving on to fill the glass of my padawan. "Very happy."_

_Obi-Wan had been completely silent since our arrival, holding himself tightly reined against the emotions battering against his shielding, but he could not quite suppress the tremors in his hands as the Re'helian child leaned over him and brushed against his shoulder in the process of pouring his wine._

_"An amazing transformation, Lord Kreivag," I observed, taking a sip from my goblet, and finding it an excellent vintage. "May I ask . . ."_

_The Shamm'rai lifted his glass and drank, and his eyes drank in the appearance of my padawan, before turning to face me. "The Jedi, it appears, are no less inclined to jump to conclusions than the rest of the galaxy. You assume, because we choose to remain close to our roots, to maintain our ties to the world that spawned us and reject an artificially controlled environment, that we are simple and primitive, without sophistication or scientific resources. You assume that a reluctance to interact with the exo-trash that travels the galaxy means we are stupid and inferior."_

_He leaned back against a stack of cushions, as Chymgi resumed his position at the knee of his master. "You are very, very wrong, Jedi, and you will pay a very high price for your ignorance." His smile then was slow and unnerving. "Not, perhaps, quite so high a price as your apprentice, but high enough, I think."_

_Again, he drank, and raised a hand to summon the small army of servants waiting to bring forth an incredible feast._

_I allowed a veiled young woman to fill my plate with a colorful array of glacéed fruit, and signaled Obi-Wan to accept the same, although the pallor of his face made it clear that any attempt to eat would be beyond him._

_"You still haven't explained Chymgi's conversion," I pointed out, nibbling on a small, skinless sphere that tasted vaguely like a Cajarian fig._

_Kreivag sat up and attacked his plate of food with gusto, using only a stiletto-like knife to spear each bite. "During your tour through our caverns," he said, between mouthfuls, "did my little friend here never tell you the legend of the Ezzui, the servants of the dark god, Tsai-rus?"_

_The names were unfamiliar to me, but I looked to Obi-Wan who merely shook his head. He was staring into his plate, pushing his food around with a slender knife, trying to pretend an interest he did not feel. As he felt my concern, he forced himself to lift a water goblet and drink, but even that required an effort almost beyond his strength._

_With each minute that passed, his pallor intensified, and the circles under his eyes deepened, and I felt desperation swell within me. Whatever it was that was driving him was approaching critical mass, and would not wait much longer for resolution._

_Kreivag glanced at him and frowned, as if puzzled by what he saw. Then he shrugged, and continued his meal. "Despite our technological developments, which will astonish you, I think, we remain a culture bound by traditions, and we still pay homage to an array of deities, many originating in tribes far older than our own. Some among us regard religious obligations as simple superstitions, but they serve a purpose. Used correctly and incorporated into tribal cultures, they serve to create discipline and obedience among the people." He grinned, obviously pleased with himself. "I have learned my lessons very well, Jedi, and am always careful to render necessary homage to the gods, to insure the loyalty of my people."_

_I heard Obi-Wan's swift inhalation and spoke quickly to silence the scathing comment trembling on his lips._

_"You use their beliefs to enslave them," I said calmly, careful to avoid an accusatory tone._

_"That is your interpretation," he answered, with a small smile that revealed that he knew perfectly well that I thought him a barbarian of the first order, and that he was completely unconcerned with my beliefs. "I prefer to think that I fill a need in their lives, playing a role that accommodates their hunger for structure and guidance. At any rate, certain old myths can be of great value, used judiciously."_

_He leaned to his left then, and pulled a small cylinder from a compartment in a small, intricately carved cabinet, a cylinder containing a viscous, metallic fluid. "My warriors call this 'Ezzui broth'. There are few braver individuals in this galaxy than my guardsmen, but they avert their eyes from the sight of this vial. It is, in their eyes, a weapon bestowed by the gods, only to be used by the Shamm'rai, who rules by divine right."_

_For some reason, I could not take my eyes off the slim container, watching as it moved in his hand, glinting silver in the light._

_"The Ezzui," he continued, "are the creatures of the night, reborn from death by virtue of a bargain with the dark god, Tsai-rus - doomed to eternal unrest, to do his bidding forever, while locked within the insanity of their own minds."_

_He looked at me with a small grin, and I shuddered. There was a certain irony in hearing such a man speak of insanity so glibly, but I couldn't summon the detachment to appreciate it. "What is it - really?"_

_The grin became a chuckle. "A nano virus," he answered smugly. "Robotic microbes that are injected into the bloodstream and make their way to the behavioral nodes of the brain. Within a matter of hours, they supplant existing command structure, and render the individual incapable of resisting pre-coded external instruction. The intellect survives, of course, locked away deep within the core of consciousness, but the will is destroyed."_

_I felt the ache in my head intensify as I closed my eyes, and felt darkness rising around us. "And you used this, on this child?" I whispered._

_I looked up and met his gaze, and felt a new wave of horror swell within me._

_"And will do so again," he answered coldly, with a quick glance toward my apprentice. "If necessary."_

_It was at that exact moment that I was reminded of some old lessons that I had allowed myself to forget, and that the Megijim learned that what they knew of the Jedi was insufficient to grant them full control of the moment._

_Even a Jedi Master, it seemed, could still be taken by surprise, and Force-enhanced speed was obviously something for which our captors were not prepared._

_Obi-Wan was nothing more than a shadow as he moved, flowing up and forward in one powerful lunge, and coming to rest exactly where he needed to be, with his hands braced against Chymgi's throat, the cloud of glass fragments that marked his explosive landing still expanding around him, shredding parts of his garment and slashing his skin with dozens of bloody welts._

_For a moment, there was only silence, as many in the room undoubtedly thought that my padawan had simply vanished from his seat. Predictably, it was Kreivag who regained his senses first, bellowing for assistance as he threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around my apprentice's body in an attempt to drag him away from his target. But, brutal strength notwithstanding, the Shamm'rei was no match for Force-enhanced power, and it was already much too late. Obi-Wan had completed his anatomical studies many years before, and knew exactly which pressure points would bring about a swift and painless death._

_Still, there was a single moment when awareness flared within the Re'helian boy, and I felt it as a burst of incredibly pure light. As death claimed him, he reached up and touched the face of my padawan, wiping away the tears that would prove to be the only mourning offered up for him._

_By the time I was able to move, Obi-Wan had collapsed, barely conscious. But, like Kreivag only moments before, I was a heartbeat too slow. I heard the outraged roar of the Shamm'rai, just as a group of warriors raced into the chamber and swarmed around me, bearing me away from the limp figure of my padawan. But not far enough to spare me from seeing what happened next, what I surely must have known would happen next._

_Kreivag, snarling in fury, retrieved a syringe from his supply cabinet, inserted the vial containing the robotic microbes, and jammed the bulky needle into the flesh beneath Obi-Wan's jaw. I don't remember much of the moments that followed; I think I must have blacked out for a time, and, when I came to myself, it was already much too late._

_The Shamm'rai was breathing heavily, glaring down at my apprentice, who was still slumped around Chymgi's body. "This is not how it was supposed to be," the Megijim chieftain exclaimed. "You were to be my 'Azzurri - my champion. You were young enough and strong enough. I would have had a Megijim champion, with the skills of a Jedi, and I would have . . ."_

_"What have you done?" I whispered, barely coherent, shrugging off the hands of the guardsmen, who seemed to be almost as stunned as I was._

_"He defied me," he cried. "You should have stopped him. I would not have . . . I wanted . . ."_

_I fixed him with a cold gaze. "Is there an antidote?"_

_"I would have taught him well, even made him . . ."_

_"Is there an antidote?" I repeated, uninterested in his excuses._

_"Why would he do this? Why would he risk everything to . . ."_

_I could barely contain the pain that gripped me then, as I understood - finally - the dilemma my apprentice had faced. "Because he is Jedi, above all."_

_He knelt then and peered into Obi-Wan's eyes. "There is no antidote. In a matter of hours, he will lose his ability to function without direction."_

_I sighed, and suddenly felt all my years - and most of Master Yoda's as well. "Will he suffer?"_

_He lowered himself to his ridiculous mound of cushions, his eyes suddenly distant and unfocused. "No, not physically - unless he resists."_

_For my part, I found that the simple act of inhaling was almost beyond me. "In that case, may I take him back to our cell? Grant us these few hours, to say our good-byes."_

_He hesitated briefly, before nodding his assent, and I moved forward then, to kneel and work my arms around Obi-Wan's unresisting body. When I stood, I was instantly reminded of the ordeal he had endured during our stay on Re'Helia by the lightness of my burden._

_"I once had two sons," said the Megijim chieftain, obviously lost in dregs of memory. "Both fell in battle, and my mate died in the attempt to produce a third." He looked up at me then, and I found myself marveling at how far from truth our assumptions can sometimes be. "I know what you thought," he continued, almost as if we were carrying on a polite conversation. "I saw it in your eyes, and I saw no reason to correct your error. But I would not have . . ."_

_For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him . . . almost._

_When I reached the doorway to make our exit, he stood and moved forward to bar the way, his face still flushed with anger. "I will allow you this night, to prepare him. But no more. With the dawn, he will be mine - forever - whether or not I would have had it happen this way. Don't trifle with me, Jedi; you should remember that he will still be aware of reality, though unable to change it. I doubt he would enjoy watching you die - very, very slowly. More than that, I doubt he would relish being compelled to kill you. Do we understand each other?"_

_I felt the unmistakable trembling of the body in my arms as I nodded. "Perfectly."_

* * * * * * * * * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_We were both silent as we were escorted back to our cell, silent as we were locked away, silent as I laid him on the larger of the two pallets and draped him in our two robes, and channeled tiny doses of healing energy into his body to close the dozens of tiny cuts that marred his skin. His was the silence of near total exhaustion - of body and spirit; mine arose from the necessity to concentrate, to focus the fine skills of Force manipulation, and trace the progress of the toxic microbic venom racing through his bloodstream._

_I had clung to the hope that the microbes would be vulnerable to Force manipulation, and that I would be able to rewrite the programming that compelled them to seek out the control matrices of my padawan's brain, but I was quickly disabused of that notion. If the microbes themselves had been the only element of the protein-based formula, I might have been able to convince them to abort their mission and settle into a holding pattern, awaiting extraction. But the composition of the fluid was much more complex than I had anticipated. As they traveled through his body, the tiny artificial lifeforms extruded filaments that were immediately attracted to the fine tissues of his nervous system. At first contact, the fibers embedded themselves therein, forming a molecular bond along the pathway of synaptic discharge that was virtually unbreakable. With time and an incredible amount of luck, I might have been able to destroy or deactivate one of the two functions of the binary process - either the microbes themselves, or the filaments they generated - but, in the end, it would be an exercise in futility; the remaining function would either accomplish its goal, or it would simply kill him in the process._

_It was a weapon designed to guarantee domination or death, and it was viciously efficient._

_By the time he curled up on the rough bedding, clasping his knees to his chest, I had been forced to conclude that it was already too late._

_I spent several minutes adjusting the stuffing of the pallet, before going into the 'fresher and filling a clay basin with water, which I warmed with a touch of Force energy. Grabbing the threadbare rags that served us as towels, I hastened back to tend my apprentice._

_And found him awake and aware, and the turmoil within his spirit as he dealt with the realization of what was in store for him struck me like a blast of Hoth ice in high winter._

_I knelt beside him and began to wash his face. There was much to be said, but I understood that the dynamic between us required that I wait and allow him to initiate the conversation._

_When he did, he demonstrated that he still retained the ability to surprise me, even after all our years together._

_He lifted one hand, trembling with exhaustion, among other things, and forced me to stop and look into his eyes. "I must ask your forgiveness, Master," he whispered. "I deliberately deceived you. I failed in my oath to serve you and speak only truth."_

_I took his hand, and clasped it between both of mine. "When did you know, Padawan?"_

_He made no attempt to pretend to misunderstand. "I knew from the beginning, from the morning we were taken. When he touched me, I felt the torment, the horror within him. I heard it, like a primal scream that was ripping him apart, and just going on, and on, and on. On the surface, there was nothing left of who he was, but he was still in there, buried. Helpless and hopeless." He closed his eyes, and I saw the shadow of that same pain as it roiled within him. "I couldn't leave him like that. Even if it meant I had to lie to you, I just couldn't."_

_I replaced his hand beneath the folds of my robe, and returned to my task of cleaning his face. "Why did you find it necessary to deceive me, Obi-Wan? Why didn't you tell me?"_

_His eyes were unnaturally bright in the gloom, and his pallor was giving way to the first flush of fever. "If I asked you to help me, I knew you'd try to spare me and take on the responsibility yourself. I knew you wouldn't be able to ignore his need, and then, the guilt for violating the Code would have fallen on you. I couldn't let you do that, Master. He came to me. He trusted me; he was my responsibility."_

_I brushed his hair away from his face, and frowned as he turned away from me. "I know I've disappointed you, Master. I tried to follow your guidelines, tried to listen to the Force. But I couldn't hear it. All I could hear was his screams, and the ache in my heart. I couldn't . . ."_

_"Obi-Wan," I interrupted, laying my hand against his face and forcing him to meet my eyes, "where do you think the Force lives, within you? Where is it strongest?"_

_He sighed, and the heavy suffering that wrapped him like a shroud filled me with despair. "That's just the problem," he said finally. "I don't think it does live in me, not any more. I haven't been able to touch it - to reach it - in days. All my life, it's whispered to me, sung to me. I've felt it like a soft rhythm in my blood. Here, in this place, it's gone silent."_

_He inhaled hoarsely, and, acting in desperation, I think, lurched upward and wrapped his arms around my throat, as silent sobs racked him. Uncertain how to respond, I simply held him and let him cry. When he grew quiet, I pushed him away from my chest, and tried not to gasp at the desolation I saw in his eyes._

_He lay back and dredged up a lopsided smile. "The band . . . has stopped playing," he whispered. "I think the symphony's over."_

_For a moment, I was stricken with a sense of futility, in the certainty that I could not avert the destiny that crouched hungrily in the shadows, its vicious fangs eager to devour his tender flesh, but I forced myself to focus on more immediate traumas. I must do what I could do, while learning what was possible._

_"Padawan," I said, infusing my voice with a measure of firmness, "I want you to focus on me. Hear only my voice; be guided by the bond we share and open yourself completely. I need you to drop your shielding, and trust me to protect you by enclosing you within mine. Can you do that? Can you give me your trust now, and allow me to look into your mind, and your heart?"_

_Even under the current circumstances, which were as desperate as any we'd ever encountered, it was a lot to ask. Creating and maintaining mental shielding and respecting the boundaries of privacy were the first skills taught and learned by Jedi children; relinquishing them and exposing one's most intimate core required a courage and trust that very few could summon or maintain._

_Still, this was my Obi-Wan, and, while he might have doubted his ability, I did not. Laying my fingers against his temple, I took a moment to compose myself, and then deconstructed my own mental barriers, keeping only those that would enclose us both, and one tiny little box, carefully padlocked, that I could not yet share with him. It was neither simple nor easily accomplished, but I had realized that I could not ask it of him, if I were unwilling to take the same risk._

_His eyes were huge in the shadowed interior of our cell when he felt the rush of my emotions swirl around him like waters pouring through the rift of a broken dam._

_I could feel his fear, like the terror of a tiny wild creature confronted with the unimaginable, but beneath it, steady and sure and ablaze with light, was the courage that had seen him through the darkness that had sought to consume him through all his life. His shielding thinned and dissipated, like gossamer threads spun over a brief span of years, unlike my own sinewy ropes fashioned by decades._

_I didn't know then - and don't know now - if the luminous glow that rose around him as he looked up at me was a physical manifestation of our communion or simply a figment of my imagination. I only know that I saw him during those moments as I had never seen him before, as if the Force took pity on me by touching him with its own sweet purity, as if it understood and answered my need to be able to memorize the sculpture of his face and to store that perfect image away, to treasure during the long darkness looming ahead._

_"Now," I said gently, reinforcing the spoken word with the same message through our bond, "listen, and tell me where the Force lives within you."_

_For a time - seconds, minutes, I've never been sure - there was only a sense of anticipation. Of bated breath and stretched perceptions, followed by - faint and far away - a sweet, soaring descant, rising into ethereal realms of flight, soft, barely audible, but growing._

_I looked down and saw a sunrise of pure joy on my padawan's face, as he felt the song rise within him, and I could barely contain a sob as he reached out to grasp my hand, to allow me to share something that had always been reserved for him alone._

_The Force sang to only a very few. So few that many among the Jedi - Masters and ancient adepts among them - claimed that the very concept was ridiculous, a fantasy created by undisciplined children with overactive imaginations. Until that day, I would probably have agreed with them, although I knew that Obi-Wan, on occasion, had issued a few cryptic comments that seemed to dispute that certainty._

_I had never been privileged to hear it before and never would again, and I would never find the words to express the beautiful simplicity and the wondrous complexity of that symphony of existence. But I spent those precious moments savoring the knowledge that I had been granted a special gift, all because of the generous heart of my apprentice. Through him, the song filled me._

_"Tell me," I repeated, after a few millennia of being swept up and caressed by the melody, "where does it live in you?"_

_His smile was gentle, beatific. "In my heart," he replied, without a single trace of uncertainty._

_"And what compelled you to do whatever you had to do, to save your friend?"_

_He looked up at me then, and I saw understanding swell in his eyes. "I felt it, in my heart."_

_I braced my hands against his face, and gently stroked his cheekbones with my thumbs. "Never doubt," I said firmly. "You did what the Force compelled you to do. You might have been unable to hear it, but it certainly heard you. A Jedi can do no more."_

_"But the Code . . ."_

_"Is a list of platitudes, devised by sentient beings, who are just as fallible as you and I. The Force is not."_

_I then calmly resumed washing his face, noting in the process that his skin had grown hotter and drier._

_Reasoning that cool compresses might feel better against his fevered brow, I rose to refill the clay bowl with fresh water. Or that, at least, was the excuse I used. In truth, I needed to take a moment to find my center, to regenerate my serenity, which would soon be sorely tested._

_How, I thought, do I tell him? How do I . . ._

_My musings were interrupted by a scraping sound behind me, and I sensed, simultaneously, a welling confusion within the bond that connected me to my padawan._

_"Obi-Wan? What . . ."_

_When I emerged from the 'fresher, I jerked to a halt, frozen by the tableau laid out before me._

_My apprentice had managed to extricate himself from the pallet on which I'd left him, and move to the center of our cell, where he had dropped to his knees and fallen forward, face pressed to the floor and arms extended before him. It was the classic posture assumed by Jedi children when submitting themselves for discipline, or to petition for leniency._

_Even in the gloom of the tiny chamber, broken only by moonlight from the skylight and a scattering of faint glow rods attached to the uppermost rafters of the building, I could see the light-and-shadow pattern on his body that would have allowed me to count his ribs if I'd chosen to do so._

_I knew in that moment that I would never again think of this cursed planet with anything but vile hatred._

_"Don't do this, Padawan," I said, hurrying forward. "You require no absolution, no forgiveness. Get up, and . . ."_

_"Please, Master," he replied, speaking very softly. "I must ask . . . I would beg a dispensation."_

_I sighed, and was tempted to ignore the formality of his request. Under the circumstances, it seemed vaguely ridiculous, but the ritual he had invoked by the use of that word was both very old and very sacred, and I knew that he was completely aware of the sanctity of the tradition and the Masters' obligation to honor it._

_Reluctantly - but resigned - I went to one knee before him, and gave him the response he was seeking._

_"State your request, Padawan."_

_He paused then, and I could see the tremors that gripped him. Disregarding the ordinary protocol of such an exchange between Master and apprentice, I reached over and retrieved my cloak, and draped it around him. It did little, however, to dispel his trembling, but he did wrap it around his fists, as if taking some measure of comfort from the feel of it._

_When he spoke, it was obvious he was fighting to maintain his calm demeanor - and to keep his voice steady. "I must beg your forgiveness again, My Master. Not for what I've already done, but for what I am about to do." He inhaled hoarsely, and took a moment to control his shivering. "I thought . . . I would be strong enough to face this . . . or to handle it on my own."_

_Though already prostrate before me, he seemed to deflate a bit at that point, as if he would have melted into the cold stone beneath us if he could. "But I can't." By this time, his words were only a murmur. "I can't . . . do this, Master. I know - a Jedi should be ready to face whatever the Force asks him to face. And I thought I could do it. I thought I could . . ." He lifted his face then, and stared up at me. "Help me, Master. Tell me what to do. Tell me how to . . ."_

_At that point, I simply leaned forward and pulled him into my lap, wrapping him in every ounce of warmth and comfort that I could offer. "Shhhh, Padawan. Hush now. There was no need for you to ask. Everything is going to be fine, you'll see. Just rest now, and leave everything to me."_

_Did he believe the nonsense I crooned to him? Almost certainly not, but I think, by that point, that it no longer mattered. All he wanted, all he needed from me was the proof of my caring and the solace offered by the sound of my voice. He relaxed into my embrace, almost boneless in the relief of having relinquished his hold on the course of his destiny._

_Tomorrow had become an abstract that no longer concerned him._

_We had settled together on the pallet, braced against the corner, when I felt him squirm uneasily, and attempt to sit up._

_"Rest, Little One," I said softly. "With the morning, this will all be behind you."_

_I think my heart quivered just a bit then, as I saw that tiny smile that I had thought never to see again. "You haven't called me that, in a long time."_

_I pressed a kiss against his temple. "You haven't allowed me to call you that in a long time. As I recall, the last time I called you that, you hissed at me like a seheri-serpent, and spent the rest of the afternoon with steam shooting out your ears."_

_The smile became a gentle chuckle. "And what did you expect? You did it in a salle full of padawans, and half of them were girls."_

_"How criminal of me," I answered mildly, tucking my robe more tightly around him as he continued to shiver. "I should have been banished from the Jedi Order on the spot."_

_"At least," he agreed, still smiling. "It's funny, you know. I spent my entire childhood wanting to be grown, to be older, and better, to be taken seriously. And now, I wish . . ."_

_"I know."_

_He looked up at me then, and I saw the terrible certainty in his eyes. "I wanted . . ."_

_"What did you want, Obi-Wan?" I prodded, when he did not continue._

_"I wanted to learn how it feels . . . how you felt, about Master Tahl. I wanted someone to feel that way about me. I wanted so many things. I know we're supposed to be ready for whatever happens to us - to be able to accept it. I just wish . . ." He sighed then, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm just making this harder for you."_

_For a few moments, I was unable to form a coherent response, as the grief surged within me and overwhelmed my rational mind. When I was finally able to speak, my voice was ragged and coarse. "Know this, my padawan, if you never know anything else. You have been the greatest joy of my life, and I would move the universe to give you everything you ever wanted, if it were within my power."_

_He was silent for a while, and I thought perhaps he had finally fallen asleep, but I should have known better. He sat up in my lap again and favored me with a stern gaze only slightly modified by a tiny spark of mischief. "There is one thing you can do for me," he said, and I almost wept to hear the unmistakable vein of amusement in his tone._

_"And what might that be?" I managed to reply._

_"With your help, what I must endure, I will endure," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "but not like this."_

_His hand swept down across his torso, and I realized that he still wore the deep green, embossed garment provided by the Shamm'rei._

_And I felt the warmth of his lovely wit ignite something within me, that enabled me to return his smile. "Not like that, indeed."_

_Once more, I fetched warm water and towels, to prepare him, and if I made a bit of a ritual of cleansing his body, he seemed comforted by the extra care._

_I was reminded, as he almost purred under my touch, that my beloved Tahl had been the one to point out that Obi-Wan needed physical contact as much as mental and emotional connection. At some point during our relationship, which necessarily included him as a part of our family unit, she began to refer to him as my 'kitling', claiming that he reacted to touch with a feline delight, that he craved physical stroking as much as verbal approval._

_It seemed only appropriate, on this night of all nights, to respond to that need, and allow him to sense what a privilege it was for me to be allowed to prepare him for what lay ahead._

_Did he understand the symbolic meaning of my gentle touch?_

_I've never been sure._

_By this time, his lethargy had increased to the point that he could do little to assist in his ablutions, but we managed. When I finally stripped off the rich, alien garment, he allowed himself a small sigh and seemed slightly more energized and much more motivated to struggle into his Jedi attire. When I would have left the boots, he simply stared at me, and I was reminded by the set of his jaw that this young stripling might be raw and unseasoned, but he had a powerful will. In the end, the boots were where they belonged - on his feet._

_And we settled in once more, braced against the corner, with his head cradled on my shoulder. We settled in to wait, and I watched his eyes._

_* * * * * * *_

_During the hours that followed, we spoke of many things - memories, dreams, friends, shared joys, shared sorrows. Sometimes, he drifted, and the dreams became entwined with the fabric of reality, so that he existed in a state that was neither - and both. He spoke of Bant and Garen and Reeft, and I understood that he was sending messages, though he didn't actually say so. Then he spoke of Ciara - sister of his heart - and I could barely withstand the terrible ache that rose within me as I envisioned the pain she would endure, and my part in inflicting it, for I would allow no other to deliver his parting words to her._

_In his rambling, he revealed fragments of dark dreams, and I wondered then - as I wonder now - how much of that darkness was the stuff of nightmare, and how much might contain true vision. Images of a dark warrior, of blood and destruction and death, of haunted children and gaunt faces, some of them familiar, but not - quite - recognizable. And of Jedi, fading into shadow._

_I was unable to decipher the meaning of what he revealed to me, but something within his aura - a tremor in his spirit - suggested that he understood the meaning all too well. If so, he would take his knowledge with him, unspoken._

_I watched his face, and measured the remainder of his life in shallow breaths and slowing heartbeats and felt the approach of true darkness as the luminosity faded from his eyes._

_It was well past the hour of mid-watch - when the world had begun its climb toward morning - that his eyes opened once more, very wide, and the Force surged around him, and wrapped him in its embrace. It was at that moment that I saw death in his eyes, for the last time._

_"Master?" he whispered, fisting his hands in the folds of my tunic._

_"Yes, Little one?"_

_He sighed softly, and I had to lower my face so that his lips grazed my ear in order to hear him. "I wanted to make you proud."_

_I swallowed around the huge lump in my throat and blinked away the wetness in my eyes. "You did, padawan. Every day, in every way. You have been the light of my life."_

_He smiled then, I think, and nestled against me, and spoke only two final words, on the faintest trace of breath. "Remember me."_

_"Always." It was the last word I spoke into the bond between us, the bond that was thinning rapidly and waiting to be severed._

_The silence around us was complete - thick - crushing, and I was forced to struggle for my next breath, and for the will to finish it, to do my duty, to him and to myself._

_In that moment, I demonstrated one more Jedi trait that the Megijim had failed to anticipate or understand: to disarm a Jedi Master requires much more than the simple confiscation of weapons._

_Using only the Force to forge a blade of light and viciously suppressing the rage of pain and anger within me, I sliced away the braid that he had worn for five years and recited the ceremonial words, unchanged since the earliest days of the knighthood._

_"By the power vested in me by the Council of Twelve and the Articles of the Jedi Order, and in the service of the Light, I confer upon you the title of Jedi Knight."_

_I raised the severed braid to my lips before leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead. "The Force will be with you always, Beloved Padawan."_

_Then, without allowing myself time to reflect or ponder, I opened my body and my mind to the great consciousness that had flowed through Obi-Wan's spirit throughout his life, the same consciousness that had adored him enough to wrap him in its endless melody. It moved through me swiftly, but with aching tenderness, and poured into his exhausted body, where it filled him with warmth and love and light - and stopped his heart._

_My padawan died, as he had lived, without shadow. My child of light._

_And I sat there, in growing darkness, and tried to convince myself that the Code was more than a collection of platitudes, tried to believe that there was no death._

_Tried - and failed._

_I thought I was prepared - thought I knew what to expect. I had, after all, lost a padawan before. This would not be the first bond to be severed by death._

_But I had miscalculated, badly._

_I had lost Xanatos - who was as dear to me as a child of my flesh - but he had not been my heart, and the bond between us, by the time it was cut, had been tainted by the ugly dissolution of our relationship and severely restricted._

_Thus, I actually knew very little of what I would face with the passing of the child who had dragged me back into the beautiful clamor of life, when, if left to my own devices, I would have wrapped my spirit in a shroud of loneliness and spent my remaining years in a pale, insubstantial shadow of reality._

_I had anticipated the terrible, wrenching pain, the blaze of anguish that flared white-hot in my mind, and the towering outrage, the need to strike out and exact vengeance that stunned my soul._

_What I had not anticipated - could not anticipate - was the horrible, crushing emptiness, the overwhelming sense of solitude, and the certainty that nothing would ever again fill the void into which I was plunged by the sudden, absolute silence of the link that had long embedded itself within my soul._

_So I sat and held him, as his body cooled, and time proceeded on its inexorable march to a new day. I think I talked to him - and sang to him, perhaps - but I have never been able to remember what I said. It was meaningless, anyway; I talked simply to fill the emptiness, knowing full well that nothing would ever be able to dispel that dreadful, bottomless silence._

_It was with the first faint glimmer of dawn - two short hours later - that the sound came to me, a sound that would haunt me with every first pulse of daybreak from that day to this - the distinctive drone of orbital landers - many, many orbital landers - streaking down through the layered atmosphere, leaving commas of contrails across the vista of dawn._

_The Jedi were landing._

_They came in force - and in Force - and the Megijim, for all their vaunted battle skills, stood helpless before them. Sixty-two teams, Masters, knights, and senior padawans, all, and they were irresistible._

_I made no move to rise and greet them. They would find us soon enough._

_I have always thought it singularly ironic that the first brilliant auroral burst of sunrise provided the framework for the body of Master Mace Windu as he threw open the door of our cell and strode forward like an avenging angel, his violet saber ignited and ready to dispatch any who might stand against him._

_No one did, and he paused for a moment, chest heaving with the rush of victory._

_It was, however, short-lived._

_Explanations, questions, second-guessing, recriminations - it would all come later._

_For that moment, there was only the stricken look in his eyes, as he fell to his knees and reached out to touch my padawan's face while he stretched out with his Jedi instincts and read the traces of the events that had led to that final terrible result._

_He looked up at me then, and his huge, dark eyes were wide with disbelief. "Why?" he whispered. "Why would you do this?"_

_I gazed down at that lovely face, stilled forever through an act of my will, and smoothed soft spikes of hair away from his forehead. "Because," I answered, barely audible, "he asked me to."_

_I glanced up then and noted that our rescuers had arrived in the vanguard of a perfect, pristine morning, but there would be no sunrise for me. Not then, not ever. Obi-Wan was gone, and there was not enough light in the universe to fill the yawning darkness in my soul._

_* * * * * * * * * *_

_They bundled us up quickly and took us away from that terrible place, and I can say with great confidence that I have never spent a single moment wishing to return to that wretched world and never will._

_Under my silent scrutiny, they came and handled him with great reverence, wrapping him in the two cloaks - his and mine - when I pointed out that he disliked the cold. No one protested the illogic of my statement; I'm not sure anyone even noticed it._

_When they would have placed his body in an unpressurized cargo bay, I refused to allow it, and it was not difficult to discern from the wary looks in their eyes that they all wondered if I was teetering on the verge of insanity. But, in the end, it was Mace who intervened and directed that he be taken to my cabin and affixed with a portable stasis generator, to preserve his body during our journey._

_Perhaps it was morbid and maudlin; perhaps the doubters were right, and I had stepped across the fine line between reality and delusion, or the even finer one between delusion and dementia. But this would be our final journey together, and I was not yet ready to relinquish my place at his side._

_It required two days to complete the trip, and when it was ended, and they came to inform me that it was time to disembark, I asked them to give me a moment, to say my last farewell._

_It was then that I realized - belatedly - that the physical form I had clung to so adamantly as we made our way home, was nothing more than a crude shell, a structure that had once housed his spirit, an empty dwelling._

_I clasped his hand, and traced the line of his jaw with a trembling hand one last time and let him go._

_The Healers were waiting, as I had foreseen. The weapon used against him had been so vicious, so heinous - and so effective - that they had no choice but to conduct a full investigation, to learn as much as they could._

_I told myself that it didn't matter, that he was not present in the flesh they would mutilate and explore and prod and sample._

_I left him in their hands, and went to present my report for the Council, which I delivered in a wooden, inflectionless voice. I knew that the circle of Masters was dissatisfied with both my manner and the information I presented, but I found that I couldn't work up much in the way of concern. I simply didn't care._

_But, despite their reputation for coldness and detachment, most among them had suffered losses of one kind or another during their years of service to the Jedi, and they refrained from demanding more input than I was ready to give. Later, I assumed, I would face intense questioning and demands for in-depth explanations._

_It even occurred to me that I should probably be worried, that there might be repercussions for my actions, but I just couldn't summon up enough energy to care._

_As it turned out, it was an augury for the rest of my life._

* * * * * * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

* * * * * * *

In the end, the healers were never able to reach a consensus about what might have happened to Obi-Wan, had he been brought back to the Temple for treatment. Some insisted that the damage inflicted by the microbic fluid was so invasive and so extensive that it could not have been reversed, under any circumstances. Others disagreed, and maintained that time and effort would have won the day.

But, when they had learned all they could learn, and tested all they could test, they still had no real answers.

Standing solidly in the middle of the disagreement were a couple of individuals who took a different approach and staunchly declared that, if he had been returned to the Temple - alive - that it wouldn't have mattered, ultimately, whether or not the effects of the microbes could be reversed; he would have been alive and present among us, even if he were unable to function without being subject to total control by another person. Someone could have been assigned to care for him, these individuals argued. The Order would have taken care of its own.

I listened to those statements, and found myself barely able to meet the eyes of those who made them. I knew, very early, that Mirilent Soljan would never forgive me for what I'd done, and never accept that my decision had been necessary.

During the debates, many asked for my comments, but I refused to participate in the discussions. I had no desire to influence their findings, but, on occasion, I allowed myself to ponder what they said. I visualized my padawan - physically healthy, guided and handled like a marionette - by a person with only the best of intentions, of course.

But I remembered the restless spirit that dwelled within him, the mind that was quicksilver and fire, and pictured that bright flame locked away in a box, unable to express the wit that was one of the driving forces that made him who he was. Unable to resist or argue or inspire or defy . A box, even gilded and jeweled and padded with silk, is still a box, and I understood then that, sometimes, death is better.

What I don't know - can't know - is whether or not those who claim that they could have reversed his condition are correct.

That is the question that torments me, that makes me wonder if I took away a viable life because I was afraid to face the alternative.

The debate raged on, and the medical investigation continued as I tried to pick up the pieces of my life, and, just twenty days after our return to the Temple, I was assigned a new mission - a perilous mission to rescue hostages taken in a civil strife in the Pariphira System on the edge of Hutt territory in the outer rim. Knowing that it would be some time before the healers completed their tests, and grateful for the distraction, I accepted the assignment, reasoning that I would be back in plenty of time to see to the funerary rituals for my fallen apprentice.

The mission was a disaster, and the Jedi contingent, including myself and two knights from the Ishinki Temple, were betrayed by informants deemed trustworthy by Republic intelligence agents. Knight Biorss was killed in an ambush as we sought to retrieve the teen-aged daughter of the Schiarr ambassador, and Knight Vingt and I barely escaped with our lives. The only positive outcome of the endeavor was that we did manage to retrieve the girl, who proved to be a foul-mouthed brat with the personality of a dominatrix whom I would cheerfully have strangled within an hour of making her acquaintance.

After spending a few days in a bacta tank, I prepared to return to Coruscant, a little sadder, a little wiser, ready to initiate formal mourning for my padawan and to honor his life, in the company of all who had loved him.

But I was soon to learn that any prior knowledge I had of betrayal had barely scratched the surface of the subject. 

There are degrees of betrayal that the mind simply cannot grasp.

In their formal wisdom, the Council had denied my apprentice the tradition of the funeral pyre, concluding that the manner of his death was inconsistent with Jedi standards for honorable behavior - that by requesting my intervention, he had, in effect, committed suicide and coerced my co-operation by manipulating my emotional commitment to his well-being.

On my arrival at the Temple, I was informed, by a bureaucratic delegation appointed by the Council, that the Healers had released him just a few days after my departure on my mission, and his body had been shipped back to his native planet, where it would be turned over to his surviving relatives - if any - for disposal.

The members of the delegation, having delivered their message, at least showed sufficient discretion to leave me to my thoughts.

He was gone - back to K'hiria Melas, a world of which he had known nothing, a world in which his family had died out not long after he had been born.

He was gone, and I would never find him. And all that was left of that gentle soul, that faithful heart, was the thin braid that I wore coiled around my wrist. 

It was almost incidental that, in the course of their deliberations, they had rescinded the knighthood I had bestowed.

It was very late that night as I moved through the Temple, and found myself in a small garden near the crèche. My padawan had been very fond of it and of the tiny pond in its center that housed a variety of tame fish featuring markings of lime and coral, and the memory of his delight in their frolicsome nature was like a blade in my heart.

I knelt by the pool, in the artificial light of an artificial moon and quietly contemplated the quiet rising of an epiphany that would eventually rock my world.

I considered what they had done, tried to look at it objectively, to see it from a different angle, and was inevitably drawn back to the same conclusion.

They had rejected my request for him and his existence because it varied from the rigid restrictions they decreed as the norm; he had failed to meet their standard for conformity, by stepping outside the proscribed limits of existence.

There was no public mourning for the bright young presence who had restored my life; there were only the tears and broken dreams of those who had loved him, who wept together for lost promise and lost faith.

It was, for me, the twig that broke the dewback, that made me see the unavoidable truth.

The Jedi continued to exist - to serve the Republic and the Senate, to fulfill what they saw as their duty - and I continued with them, for a time, also dutybound. The form remained unchanged, but the function, somewhere along the way, had become rote, habitual, hidebound.

The body survived, but the soul had been lost.

Over the following months, I requested - and was granted - more and more missions that took me away for long periods of time, and required less and less contact with the ruling council. Relationships that I once treasured became more and more strained, and finally simply crumbled away to nothing.

Master Yoda, on the one occasion when we came face to face in a small meditation garden, had the grace to appear saddened by the distance between us, but neither of us chose to speak of our differences. It was, by that time, much too late.

* * * * * * * * *

Three years. On this night, it has been three years since I held my padawan in my arms, and released his spirit into the Force.

During the first two, I sought some kind of justification, some way to reconcile what I spent my life believing with what I have been forced to understand since that fatal night.

I was a slow learner, I'm afraid. It took a very long time for me to finally admit that no such justification exists.

A long time ago, the Jedi were born from a need for protection from evil and darkness, and their sole purpose for existing was to defend the good and shelter the innocent. I believed, despite all evidence to the contrary, that the principle remained unchanged as the millennia unfolded.

I was wrong.

The Jedi have become a political body; they have lost their innocence. And they have stolen the purity of those they once strove to protect - the children that are entrusted to them.

My Obi-Wan was one of the victims, discarded and forgotten, because his death might have been an embarrassment, because he chose to die rather than be enslaved to the will of an evil man.

Perhaps evil itself has become an outdated concept; perhaps everything can be rationalized.

But he would never have accepted it, and neither do I.

I muse for a moment on the dark visions that appeared to him, and I know that a galactic storm is brewing, lingering now just below the horizon. Soon it will erupt, and provide the setting for the rise of the creatures of darkness. The source will originate from outside the realm of the Jedi, but the final defeat will be rooted in the necrosis that even now corrupts the core of the Order.

For a while, I was consumed with guilt, for contemplating the desertion of those to whom I have devoted my life. But I understand now that I am powerless to avert what destiny decrees, as there are none who will listen and be persuaded that action must be taken now, before it is too late.

For the simple truth is this; it is already too late, and I see no point in lingering here, to watch it happen. 

A few months ago, I requested a sabbatical, using the recent discovery of the ancient temple at Biamé And'ria as an excuse to spend some time in contemplation and research of the fragile archives found there.

Not enjoying a reputation as a scholar, I'm sure my request raised some eyebrows, but two years of back-to-back missions, every one of them classified as high-risk, earned me the right to vacate wherever I might choose.

I selected Biamé And'ria, and focused my attentions on a small, obscure section of the preserved texts. No one paid much attention to the areas that interested me, except for Master Eeth Koth, who seemed to spend a lot of time loitering in my vicinity.

Did he figure out what I was doing? Perhaps, but I recalled, when I began to notice his interest, that, in his first years after being knighted, he had suffered the loss of a young padawan who was very gifted and much loved.

I am still unsure if he might have come to realize what it was I was seeking, but, if he did, he maintained his silence, and I am grateful.

The records I sought were intact, to my surprise, though written in an elegant dialect that was devilishly difficult to translate. I completed it just a few days ago. Just in time.

The Jedi have learned - and then forgotten - many skills over the millennia. I am grateful to be able to resurrect one of them.

They denied him the ritual that was his due; I will not afford them the same opportunity for me.

Tomorrow - or sometime soon - someone will venture out into the silence of this tiny balcony, and all they will find will be the discarded robe that is draped around me.

It is time, at last, to address that one final question.

I close my eyes and extend myself through the Force, feeling it welcome me and trace tendrils of energy into the core of my being. My body is suddenly heavy, cumbersome - an anchor that holds me to a realm in which I no longer wish to dwell, and a warm pressure wells up inside me and grows and brightens.

And lifts me away from the crude matter that confines me.

The question sings in my mind.

_Has he forgiven me? Will he wait for me?_

There had been light around me, but it has faded now, and I know a moment of dread, as I rise into an infinity of darkness. But, somehow, it is not cold; it is not a place of fear or loneliness. It is, rather, a place of beginning.

I feel a sensation almost like flying, as of air rushing past my face and veils of mist trailing past my fingers, and I am suddenly conscious of a burst of strength and well-being racing through my body. My body that was old and scarred and damaged by time.

Time cannot reverse itself; it cannot be the song of youth that sings once more in my veins, yet that is how it feels. I am struck with an urge to run, and laugh, and leap through starfields - starfields that suddenly flare to life around me.

And there is light. Everywhere, there is light.

Everywhere, there is . . . .

One, distinctive, beautiful, unmistakable light - steady, filled with joy and the essence of peace, reaching out and touching me with its purity, whispering my name, and folding itself into my embrace.

And, finally, unequivocally, I have found my answer.

* * * * * * * *

Fini


End file.
